Tuesday, February 26, 2008

Three Linden Opera:Poly Morpheus


What right have we?
To call for light?
To call for feelings bright,
that live outside the boundaries of this place?

What are we now?
A sim-ple folk?
Under a yolk, of distant Governor,
who taxes then ignores?

W-hat Bare Rose we see,
from over that pacific sea...
what shiny things catch our attention,
acts beyond all mention.

What are we now?
But avatar'ed and feathered,
young but oh so weathered,
having seen rising rockets of our ways,
from ugly older days.

What is this time,
a pantomime, our voices cloaked.
And yet ever present.

I can tell you the day,
I came to play, and found
no money to be found,
was lead to this silent under ground.

Began to cling to this stage,
watching men come visit and then rage,
take be back behind the curtain,
of that first time I was uncertain...
what was left and what was left of me.

I showed him what he wanted to see,
I coo'd the compliments to his freebie cock,
he told me rl he was as hard as a rock,
didn't I wish to see a picture,
didn't I want to send a photo.
He'd buy a ticket and rent a motel,
so long as his wife was fast asleep.

He took me in the mouth and ass,
a happy, for him, hour we did pass,
he tossed half of what he promised and then said
"I'll pay you more when you are better in my rl bed."
I cried before my computer,
wanted to leave my avatar for dead.

But the next night.
The next night.

I was there again.
And I can't now remember when.
I haven't been.
I haven't been.

What right have I?
To wonder why?
To cry for light,
that would only blind me.
Oh what would happen if my real life find me.
It's that secret that will bind me.


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