We wax and wane but we never quite seem to drop the ball whatsoever
When all of these pretty curtailments put forth on your floundering part manage to stand oh so very tall
Replicate sheets of high-art
Bandage us entirely – let us see we are indeed allowed to breathe
Albeit deceitfully so
Find a line, an illustration which tees it on up oh so downright perfectly
Seems we’ve been nursing our seriously broken art for all of an age-old century – great, great pretenders sending ourselves to the slaughter-house time again
Worried about the pen running dry? Damn right I am!!
And for that, Grand Masters, I must apologise
No disguising half-arsed attempts at setting your particularly peculiar bar far, far higher

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