My Plastic Architect

A poem about a man with the plans.

 

My Plastic Architect

Clean lines,

Sleek designs,

The heart of a

Cold-blooded killer.

 

All for plastic presentation,

And glorifying adoration.

 

Being in absolute control,

Is imperative,

To his detailed nature.

Critical to a fault.

 

Greed is the epicenter,

Of his beating heart.

Selfish motives,

Are always waiting,

Just below the surface.

 

Porsche dreams,

Meager means,

Pinto bean meals,

Broken-down beater-wheels,

Fake veneers.

 

Pent-up frustrations,

Competitive manipulations,

Skilled showman,

Dirty-diapered man/boy.

 

Weeks and weeks of sky miles,

Hot porn,
hotel rooms,

And worn-out hookers,

 

Years and years

Of broken-down dreams.

 

Not enough time,

For being real.

 

My plastic architect.

 

 

 

 

 

Reviews

[nono]

What an interesting idea. This is really cool I like the idea and the blueprint thing is interesting! Nicely done!

[The Rock And Roll Cowbo..]

Sounds like the blueprints for any famous sociopath lie the infamous Ted Bundy... they are the scariest cause they seem so normal and often charming.

[David W Moore III]

Ahhh, a poem about appearences and the truth and lies behind them. In this disposable society we live in, our reality is disposable, easily replaced with a bought one. What we don't realize, and you so astutely point out, is that you can put on a plastic veneer, but the base remains the same.