Erotica

"I don't think there is a fancy way to say that I have sinned." U.S. President Bill Clinton, 11^th September 1998.

Today the report came.
With twitchy thumbs and eager eyes we digest the full wonders in the highest office of the free world.
We gasp in abject horror, and shake our heads in disbelief.
With innocent voices we protest and condemn.

But our voices fall silent,
Drowned in a society of tabloid press and junk magazines,
With full-frontal nudity on prime-time TV;
Where pre-packaged sex on the telephone line, competes with non-contact intercourse in virtual reality;
Rainbow-faced hookers and diamond-clad escorts,
Whips and vibrators for every fancy,
And sweet-scented condoms for every taste;
The God-send Viagra here to save our manhood;
A dash of Ecstasy to complete our dreams;
And an urban jungle where every conversation ceases with "Screw your fucking cunt!", and the finger says more than words every did.

And amidst all this
We gaze into the eyes of he whom we have chosen to put on a pedestal, as an exemplar of our ideal.
But all we see is us — a glaring reflection of what we have turned out to be.