oven light
is this thing on?
it got to a point
where nothing
was inherently compelling.
everything became
an amalgamation of blandness,
a tidal wave that crushed
all genuine, maniacal creativity.
it all had to be understood,
it needed to serve
the current climate,
it had to
do
better…
neither good nor bad,
lacking the wounds
of erratic emotions.
it was genocide,
the crazies locked their doors
and the marketers took over
with their flaccid, acidic
mind vomit.
they all wished
to be Sylvia Plath
but none of them were willing
to stick their head in the oven.
More soon.


I mean, whenever you can work the word flaccid, into a poem, AND Sylvia Plath....
Thanks for this. It makes me curious about who Sylvia Plath is...