My latest poem after yet another star was accused of inappropriate behaviour, and is now condemned before trial
But if she said, then what he said is moot.
Kill the Artist, Burn the Art.
Fat Albert rode six white boomers
across Parramatta Park while
two little boys played with their two little toys and looked on.
Don’t graduate The Graduate.
Let’s beat up Rocky, knock down the House of Cards
And not listen to music ever again.
It’s a thriller that I’m Bad
He never existed, never was.
What happens to her if we scrub him from existence.
Nothing really happened.
Guilty! Rot in Gaol
Innocent, live in the gaol of your already condemned life.
Never the same again.
Hush! Don’t mention it.