Song For OG Slop Makers

O, how revolting, that
heart, with it’s weak
weeping pustules
of unchecked
emotion just 

Bursting to soil
precious paper in
gory perversions
of craft, to
the beat of a drum -

Lines crashing into each
other, as snot
blood and tears mix
to form a crude ink
that sings songs

Sung a thousand
times over
by shallow young
poets who yearn to be heard
through the thrum -

Today, we could formulate
lines with
a persuasive
amalgamation of
all of the 

Greatest Intelligent
voices, and
give up our choices
to god-like
mechanical hum -

But to fail
is to feel, and the heart
never heals from it’s
thumping and obstinate
will to be

Always authentically
empty,
veraciously
vapid, disgustingly
human and dumb.

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Link 1

Link 2