Shallow Inkwell

Revulsion to art at level somewhat deep,
Visuals and words are fine as long as curve ain’t steep,
As long as its a spectacle a snack a blast a treat
Just keep the thing away from mind if it disturbs the sleep.

We Ballin’ Rolling
Look! Big Tits!
Muscle mountains with big dicks
Machine guns and snarky wit
One line god speak rerun click

Scene has gone quite a character talks
The reader/ watcher/listener bawks
“Fuck is this? Get on with action!”
Pack mentality force strains the traction.

Lumbers on at bigger swells
The first and second third oh hell
Twenty-seven bleeding parts!
Of words or pictures sounds or art

Split in seasons, killed off resurrected
Decade old slogans and bullshit infected
Redundancy echoes, born from the past
“High Pop cultural awareness score” the only art let past

Fucking kill me or rip out my eyes,
Or sear my eardrums with spit and lye
How can a human enjoy this?  I tried!
…Or maybe I’m in hell right now,

this my afterlife.

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