poetry critical

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There's No Business Like It.

I wanna be in show biz.
Rise each dawn
surrounded by fizz and a glitter glow.
I now know why i put up disco balls
that throw non stop spotlights
across my supine form on Christmas mornings,
when i open one eye,
jerked from the delusion i'm cruisin'
through a Santa Claus movie
when really its just pie in the sky.
The reel froze in the chimney
and when they rose, lit Yuletide logs,
its smoke blocked out the festive display,
rearranging that special day.
Now, only "D" flicks for me,
that teem with silly trash
and mournful bit part guys.
Wondering why their pockets aren't stacked.
They wander back studio lots.
among painted house fronts where they roam,
praying rain will turn into snow.

4 Apr 19

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i want to be the exact opposite of famous... which is "unfamous"
 — mr_e

i did actually read your poem btw
 — mr_e

My poems are so compellingly faskinating mr e that once you start you can't stop until you've thrown it in the bin.

Larry trash man Lark
 — larrylark

you write beautiful poetry, but i have the attention span of a fidget spinner.
 — mr_e