Master of Mash-Up

Mind, body, and soul. All mashed-up
like music and potatoes.
No gravy, please--
can't stand the calories.
No auto-tune, please--
not all doors need keys.
Wherefore art we at this eleventh hour?
What was mine became ours.
But like so many lemon drops,
something's gone sour.
Same great taste, less chilling.
Words shaken, not stirred--put it on my tab.

Bill me.

©2009 RA