Tuesday, June 11, 2013

poem of the day 06.11.13

beyonce in vienna

beyonce is in vienna
she’s on every block actually

spinning on ads for bikinis at the h&m
plastered on to the sides of buildings that are
over four hundred years old

she looks good for someone so well-traveled

fit and golden
worth her millions for sure

even though she’s overshadowing mozart’s statue
in the burggarten

but wolfy i guess that’s the price you pay
for hanging around some three hundred years
and strangling this city with your genius

people get sick of you
you get overshadowed at times
by some american pop princess
with her tits and ass hanging out for everyone to see

beyonce outside the albertina
beyonce watching over the museums quartier
without a thought for egon schiele

too bad they didn’t have that kind of marketing
back in your day, my man

i mean just picture it
you and constanze on some yacht in the mediterranean 
your music pumping out of each and every car

the global adulation
the paparazzi hiding along the ballgasse for a candid shot

the packed stadiums and arenas

more millions than you could blow
on clothing and whores and gambling

all of the opulence with none of the guilt
plus scientology instead of the freemasons

your genius on a reality show to be voted on weekly
by the masses

those luscious corporate sponsorship dollars

a picture of you in your underwear
plastered in times square
or just one ad hocking good wine in neon
somewhere on the piccadilly in london

the great mozart pushing pepsi
instead of beyonce scantily clad in canary yellow
blocking the view from belvedere mansion

no more wigs just a ballcap cocked to the side

but time is a bitch wolfgang
it serves none of us well

plus i don’t think i’d like it
if you were trying to sell me a watch or some stale beer

and, of course, we all know that when beyonce croaks
it’ll be a global days of mourning for her

her shitty music will play from continent to continent

in america they’ll hang the flags at half-mast
and the president will give a speech at her gilded grave

the one overlooking the fresh brush fires near los angeles

because if we’ve learned nothing else, wolfy
in the two hundred and twenty-two years that you’ve been gone

it’s that we treat our celebrities well in life and in death
even when the rest of us are starving

we sure as hell
don’t bury them in pauper’s graves


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