WHEN THE MADMAN
MOUNTS HIS PEDESTAL
There's nobody there to see. Everything
becomes shadow play, a pantomime of
the most rugged conceit. Like those
big, blustery ladies on their afternoon
issue talk shows : ugly, fat, conceited
and dumb. Stage lights may someday
blister their bubbling faces. One can
hope that's not still more to come.
-
When the Madam mounts her pedestal,
again, we'll knock her off.
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