Who has the nicest feathers made of money?
Is the red carpet clean enough for the falling tears?
The failing years that was the epilogue for fame
The camera flash is not as bright as your galaxy teeth
The press can't keep up with your escapes into ritualistic scripts
The stylist is late and your latte drips
The Chihuahua has the runs and your louboutins are stuck on gum.
Your crown makes you bleed on your purse that looks like a bible
It's all a crumbling Tower of Babel
Go gets laid
Go get paid and spread wider than an oyster
So the Ibiza sun can tickle your pearls
Lay in a bed of equal thread count beyond a blind embroiderer toil
Who laboured to stitch a sorrowful note of rescue under a tag in Braille
The factory can't keep up with the tabloids and trash heaps
The phones erect like oblivion idols
Cherubs can't pee!
In fountains when they are filled with plastic and fake nails
Postcards of dirty mansions
They wail like quails at the champagne table while the head mystic unveils the latest mode of meditation that can keep you still for 3 seconds
Crucifixion, benediction, drag fake semblance and post apocalyptic face transplanted saviour
Gay sailor talking to the comedian
It's all glory, glitz and glamour
The soft armour of sheltering gorillas and elephants to say you stand for humanity
As you yell at the grounds keeper for trimming the fat off the hedges
Francis A Willey
May 7 2018