An Award and a spangly dress, an elegant hairdo and a bow tie
is all well and good unless shit is flying from every fan and hitting every eye.
A false eyelash won’t afford cover nor will a sideways look or dropping your glove.
A red carpet is only an edit away from a river of blood.
The fourth wall crashes down, we’re all Humptys now, on show
with all our colours clashing from clown-wig orange to Indiegogo.
Huxley predicted we’d eventually trade our souls for soft porn;
Orwell feared too many of us would leave well enough alone
until truth became the official word for hate; the news, staged. Easily done
is hard to undo. So do it extremely well. Do it by starlight and the sun
will show the old gods in their tottering style are not gone but gone ahead
and their hearts were never hollow. They meant every word they said.
Editor’s Note: Careful form allows the function of this poem (enlightenment) to slide into the reader’s mind more smoothly than most startling truths ever do.