Get out your sponges, stippling brushes and pens,
It’s time for makeover-Monday-night to begin.
Think Winky Lux, L’Oréal, Urban Decay,
Maybelline, Armani and Fabergé

It’s a black magic realm where brushes are wands,
where a carnival of colors are carefully crayoned.
We have palettes aplenty, in kaleidoscope hues,
to create fashion looks, both bold and subdued.

In the realm of makeup fashion, where trends never end,
we remodel each other - for fun - when we can.
Tonight, our new friend Jammie has come to watch us play,
and he even brought two bottles of chardonnay.

Lisa has a ‘Miss Rose’ case, like she saw in Bernadette Peters’
dressing room, on a backstage tour of the Shubert Theatre.
Konjac, Kabuki, Doe foots, Spoolie, Lisa’s got legit tools to use.
“When it comes to makeup,” she says, “always avoid dupes.”

That night I was the chosen face, the excited living canvas.
Lisa’s a practiced artist, her process is brisk and never tedious.
She painted my lips a crimson cherry, alluring and brightly sensuous,
my brows were moonlit art, my cheeks a midnight adumbrated edifice.

Lisa created a special look, where rebellious edge met elegance.
We took some snaps, then I washed it off - but Jammie was impressed!

Sometimes we like to do something for the story
we’ll tell afterwards. Buy a ’58 Pontiac, climb
a mountain in the dark. Lamar tells ***** jokes
with class, knows how to wait awhile, bend
a syllable and savor the laughter. We go on

with our absurd work, building a fence miles long
waste of steel and strong straight lodgepole pine
but even I don’t opine against it anymore. We’re
self-acknowledged children, fence is play and
livelihood also, but something cheerful as sunshine

for all the death it costs. There is so much life
a little death doesn’t matter. We stretch our muscles
the men feel like men, the women feel good too.
We stand around, watch a young rabbit one morning.

When you were a child you liked to play
That is Godly

Remember when they told you to go play?
You didn't always want to play

You wouldn't stop carrying on and wallowing around
When they whipped you or sent you to your room

You played
God returns

Proof?
It sure wasn't the devil guiding you.
They were busy telling you what to do, and whipping you for not playing

Boom

I romanticize humanity until what's left isn't even human.

I cook up fallacies about legal aliens and add a dash of cumin.

Your chef tosses salads in the pasta section of the grocery store.

Devil's just as confused, with a ***** and an apology at heaven's door.


You don't know, and no one cares where eggs go when they die.

Godzilla thinks of a car full of clowns like you would a sardine pie.

What happens when an elephant gets alzheimer's and loses keys?

Does the paradox consume an entire circus of trapeze-act-fleas?


I ruin birthday cakes by blowing off the frosting instead of the flames.

How I do that? Count backwards from backwards and say my names.

Bittersweet love anthems pollute the brains of conscientious dames.

Heavy metal doesn't pollute, it pacifies rage quitting from soul-******* games.


Out of the woodwork comes a limp ***** that would work,

Long hours only to find he'd pay millions for a Miley Cyrus twerk,

Which is worth about as much as an all-female circle ****,

Unless you add strap-ons, so strap in and lap up the knee-****-smirk.


It is unwise to handle scissors when one is being cutting-edge,

Because your accountants will dangle themselves off of a three-storey ledge,

When you cut up the ledgers and make light of, that is, burn, the evidence of pledge,

To the monkeys in your think-tank mailing feces to the upstart farmer's hedge.


Now I know you're sick of rhyming and of poems and of liver culling whisky,

But I must inform you of a pirate's missing eye, I've bought sight of something risky,

I implore that when this song and dance is done, you'll assuredly miss me,

Because I've told you everything about depravity, hence forth you must kiss me.


Beacons of hope shine much like cantankerous silver in the moonlight.

If you're a werewolf that will fill you with hope and with immeasurable fright.

One day the world will admit that I'm awesome and impoverished to boot,

Because when the song and dance is done, what's left is just an ounce of loot.

The power of play
The power to make you feel alive
Remember that existence isn’t meant to be lived in vain
But to be experienced
If you care to thrive.

he plays with my love
with the strings of his bow
it makes such a precise sound
consistently on pitch

he moves his hands
inch-perfect on strings
each tune a new sorrow
each string used
more infatuated then before

♥️   I had to play.
I had to play.
           my stolen heart turned rot, to ***** ♠️

Twas me snubbed.
Twas me who snubbed.
         ♦️ And glittery diamonds to dirt, were clubbed.  ♣️

But I had to play.
            I had to play.
               Cause he held all my cards anyway. 🃏
I had tried to run.
I tried to run.
      We were not there for love, but fun.
  And I HAD to play.
               I had to play..
I was his.  lonely desperate slave.

    Now he's moved on..
                 He's moved on.
                        and left his pathetic, little pawn ♟
                       I'd had to play
                       I'd had to play.
  so that from him, I could get away.

    He'd gotten bored
He got bored.
        He wiped away our checkered board.
       Now he's not here.
                       He's not here.
          But I'd do anything to feel him near.
                        
                         Come play.  
                         Come play.