Sabotage At The Taj

Blessed are they who never read a newspaper, for they shall see Nature, and through her, God. - Thoreau

living in heaven's garage

running on fumes of faith and low octane in  a turbocharge

fallen angels for an entourage

in desperate need of a heart massage

surviving on gently stirred potage

rolling loaded dice at the taj

drums pounding and tongues wagging in an offensive barrage

i hid in camouflage

a weed for a corsage

my life hanging in the balance like living risk arbitrage

being taken advantage of in a sick, twisted garbatrage

old, faded, stained pictures in a telling montage

a spilled, confusing collage

is it all just a mirage

no

more like a covert, menage

of sabotage

Author's Note

"After having some business dealings with men, I am occasionally chagrined, and feel as if I had done some wrong, and it is hard to forget the ugly circumstance. I see that such intercourse long continued would make one thoroughly prosaic, hard, and course. A hard, insensible man whom we liken to a rock is indeed much harder than a rock. From hard, coarse, insensible men with whom I have no sympathy, I go to commune with the rock, whose hearts are comparatively soft." - Thoreau