Too Much Art

I’ve seen too much ...
Too much is wearisome
The scent is lost
Art becomes a corset
Tight
I’m boned in
I can hardly breath.

The Schreibtis-chtaters
Rotund with facial tics
....and culture lust
No nothing of the essence or the source

But one way or another
All roads sticky or clean
Soon lead to dust
Bad art will come and go
Just like the rest of us.