God Is Dead. Art Is Dead. But Justin Bieber Is Alive?


Dead Souls have abused this living syndrome of illumination.
I said. Gogol, my apologies. You went insane for nothing.
We live in a Modernist time, where creativity has been
Sacrificed for convenience and conformity.

Dostoevsky opened his soul to a bullet. Just to have language
Mutinied. To rhyme
Mind with Kind. But I guess it’s all
“Art.” In defense of Dead Souls.

Anaïs Nin, my apologies.
I understand the burden of Un-Lady-Like.
But do I? This is a day & age where
50 Shades are Gray. Not black. Not sex.

Sylvia Plath, my apologies.
I understand the descriptions of peril
Kept you here a little longer than you desired.
But do I? With such contemporaries as Katy Perry & Taylor Swift.

That’s considered Confessional, now.
It’s nothing more than a commercial for the mundane.

From the origins of Beowulf,
To the Free Verse of the King James Bible.

All the banned ramblings of:
Miller, Burroughs, Vidal and Ginsberg.
All the censored love of:
Whitman, Pound, Hemingway, Sexton and Atwood.

Ah, but Shakespeare was a drunk.
“Sic semper tyrannis.”
But he had to keep himself intoxicated
Because alcohol was cheaper than food.

Consider that
When Drake writes of the “bottom.”
But spends thousands on champagne.

But he’s a poet.
…He’s a poet.

And I am just an opinionated clock.
Wrinkling away the numbers
That document…NOTHING.
This is all for NOTHING.

Art is deader than God.

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