A Urinal on an Art Exhibition Pedestal

Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem 

The modern painters found themselves outdone

By masterpieces of the past. Compete?

They felt they couldn’t.  They were like a nun

Who new that Saint Theresa was complete

In mastery of mysticism so

They turned to wanking in their cells and made

A mess, though monks could do much more with flow

Of semen on abstention’s cots.  A blade

Of iceberg cold would help them shred the art

Before them.  Canvas would be done away

With if they could but they were more like fart

In thought.  Masturbation was their nay.

  Their nay was too old-fashioned until one

    Put up a piss receptacle for fun.

~ Phillip Whidden