Seven years ago I posted a poem I wrote in 2001. I feel like bumping it up today:
Paparazzi for Sale
years ago the poets wrote
of sacrifice and battling vice
today the talk turns more to rock
the tunes that make our children swoon
morals lost and sins we heap
on paper stars and tinfoil creeps
we make them and we watch them fall
the bloodlust, hypocrite roll call
we send out spies to look for cracks
in polished floors and public acts
they snap perplexed out of context
and get paid well for lies they sell
to impulse press they spell success
in taped affairs and drinks for two
remember that when all else fails
the heights that icarus did reach
were laid to waste by tabloid tales
- By Me, March 2001
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