unraveling a concerto

a jukebox reality —

black rafters have been removed, for the lady
liberty has to put up a show of flower-disguised
equality, or so they call it. the weather is torn
between a rumbling thundershower and a bitter
sunshine that seems to melt the skin off, of all
the spectators.

oh, pity — they hope, they quarrel over some petty
crimes, they carry the burden of proof and safe-
guard their non-existent privacies. they are clad
in a humble blue contrary to lady's silver linings,
awaiting the pleasure of music they would have to
stream otherwise from pirated sources. the artistic
royalties are too exorbitant for masses of idolators
or so she would often say, in her half-hearted tone,
her eyes sad for effect.

ah, encore — the song goes on, harps turn into bats,
pianofortes into eagle shrieks, every hue into pea-
cock flamboyancy — such a stylish disconcerting stare
to enjoy in the land of many crazies(—cracies), wide-
open plays and theatrics of a celebration based on
rainbow sentimental myths. let's look for the damned
exit before it is over and all is lost in the triumph calls
of the masters of this reality.