The dragging of kung-fu fairy tales
Leave me me sour as I dress up for my
Late evening start.
My happy beginning is no longer
Stemming from a womb of natural talent
And the plastic faces shine so much
That it hurts my eyes, like a bald man
Under a hot light.
Furrowing into a world where victims and innocents
Are stranded in a swamp of their own ego,
And the common spoon is dipped into
The coffee of beautiful black recognition.
Smiles and squirms under the
Camera makes for damp underwear
through a lens.
Reaching out I put my hand through time
And pull out a premature baby