Head Lines

The traffic was strident, lanes straight the cars lined the street and froze rigid. The cop with a glare of pure hate, directed a line of gate crashers cutting. The sidewalks segmented in rows, false lure more tourists into a queue. Cowed were young folk and old folks all queued a ménage which was quite far from straight, all had come for a peck at the Bard, false. even a librarian or too, who waited with spines rigid, and scowls on their lined brows like cuts their critiques would be most direct. Teens kiss in a clutch most directly their faces make braces of queues Scalpers hawk to the latecomers cutoff, the elite meet and greet heading straight for the red road with a rigid line of bull filled with falsities. Inside the antiquated theatre under false the foot lights lining the aisles direct Mayor and matron, gran and child in rigid alleys to velvet seats also queued. The stare of critic and patron glared straight 64 toward the author so pinned and cutting. A bright white light cut the chill air so false and focused on drape lined straight each fell open as artist directed and orchestra swells filled their queue and the author he sat stark and rigid. His fate would he find in lines rigid on the page of tomorrows review, they’d cut make or they’d break his heart’s queue these piranhas with smiles so false. No fate could be more direct this tonic he must imbibe straight. So like dominoes, they fall lines rigidly, piercing cuts Filleted be he by queues false, in the end words directly aimed, straight to death cue.