The persuasive bespoke oligarchs <br />Leer earnestly from the screen, <br />While drowning in their rabid barks <br />We dress as in a dream: <br /> <br />I draw the latest razor-blade <br />Softly over my throat, <br />You oil your face for the masquerade <br />Before holding up my coat <br /> <br />Open and empty as an animal skin <br />Or a robe held for a surgeon, <br />So I lean over and cut my way in <br />To the day whose end is uncertain<br /><br />Christopher Woodall<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/good-morning-16/