by Chip Corwin & Mike Theune
Writing shit about new snow
For the rich
Is not art.
—Issa
Composing crap about the distant evergreens
For the dining hall Libertarians
Is not art,
Either.
And nor is scribbling dung about the falling leaf
For your third-grade teacher.
Spreading manure with a red wheelbarrow
For your favorite candidate?
Not art.
Dropping turdburgers in the burning sacks
Of your daily diary
entries—
Nope.
Animating lawn sausages about defense contracts
For the troglodytes
Is gonna be, at best, artsy.
And while we’re at it, picking the dingleberries
Of self-abnegating ideologies
For your fellow faculty members
Is a shallow grave.
But tricking a bull with a red cape
Onto the point of your sword
Is way more dangerous than art.
And ringing Salvation Army bells
For the poor, no matter how cold,
Is not musicianship.
Delivering a corn massacre via the West Wind
To your poetry workshop
Is to be expected.
(Always expect excrement from poetry workshops.)
Transferring funds from your retirement account
To your checking account
Is not charity.
Installing extra watchtowers
Around the ghetto
Is not community service.
COMPOSING POEMS IN ALL CAPS
FOR THE BLIND
IS NOT COOL.
If you don’t videotape it,
Squirting the baby across the
room
For the pirates
Who stole your lover
Cannot be ransom.
Living in a pre-modern community for a year
Does not confer upon you all the mystic powers
Of said community,
Peace Corps Volunteers.
Making a dreamcatcher at summer camp
For your mom
Is not art.
Same goes for a lanyard.
Making a sand-tit on the crowded beach
For your grandmother
Is not art.
Googling synonyms for shit and new snow
For your frat brothers…
Oh, shit.
Chip Corwin is a proud American deeply concerned about this float winning first place.
Mike Theune loved the '80s.
