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Beauty and the Beheld

"But, Lord, I hate being beautiful,
the curtain's rising on a stage,
everyday performance, a dutiful
actress earning the godded's wage,

and their eyes, always following
like radar driven ordinance,
I, the target, they, gods allowing
no escape, nothing left to chance."

Filet mignon, name me the choicest cut,
a piece of meat before the grill,
to be consumed! No home, man's gut,
forgotten, till again, he'd eat his fill.

"Lord, proffer me the veil, shave my head,
masked from brow to toe, save eyes,
than let them leer, dream my bed,
abase my soul until it dies."

--H. Arlequin   


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copyright 1999, The Goober Tree Press, all rights reserved