Whom are these reels for?
The men are monsters,
The women found

Worse in perfect pods,
Fake pupils in my own eyes
Given that much tear.

Underneath the veneer
The lesson remains the same,
Just honed to mimic

The gun crooners of old,
Twisted lips chewing
Then mumbling into my ear

That they don't stand for crime.
Even if you would be hard pressed
To tell em apart by logic.

But hey, the style is good.
Syncopates with the time,
Superpowered, bassy, queer

To quash dissent by repetition,
Light hearted in a funny way,
Unrealistic.

The city of dreams,
Arts technical, projection
Of power on the ground

Using an old lightbulb
That yellows the whites
And speeds up the antic.


Jam25