Modernism and Its Subsequent Loose Bowel Movements

The green light that lingers in the west. ~ Coleridge

The poets in their rainbow greed to be

Original will call the sunset sky

All colors that it ain’t.  Such poets see

It green and purple.  Dalí’s sliced up eye

Is just as desperate.  It is crippled so

Surrealistically his brush, claims black.

Distorted like his eye the brush will go

All over, wobbling.  Moderns each fight, slack

With truth, because they must escape, escape

Because it’s all been done before, before.

It doesn’t matter to these guys if rape

Is perpetrated.  They just want to score.

  A lobster-claw grasped Bible would be fine.

    They’d put it in a frame inside their shrine.

[Bing’s AI was asked by me to produce an image of a Bible being gripped in a lobster’s claws.  You can judge for yourself if that AI is as intelligent as a crusctacean.]