Poem : The Arts No Longer Wish To See

The arts have gone underground
Actually, they’ve been underground for quite some time
They’ve become blind
Like a mole
They no longer wish to see what the world is calling art these days
They no longer can bear the sight of it
The sound of it
The bubblegum shininess of it all
Choreographed primetime perfection
All to make a profit
The art world misses the roar of Bukowski
Even he can’t get sleep these days
With all the tourists coming to take photos of his grave
I wonder if they even have a clue what he went through living as a writer
If they did, they would let him rest
And the arts can’t be happy with our schools
Our institutions of learning
The budget cutting powers that be
Smile with sharpened scissors snipping away strategically
At what they believe is unneeded education
Art, music, and drama
For the kids get plenty of entertainment after school
Sitting on a couch watching the flat screen
Getting up each time a commercial comes on
To stare aimlessly into the fridge for what to eat next
Again, choreographed primetime perfection
All to make a profit
Spotless unflawed reality TV
As far from reality as one could get these days
So I ask, who will be the next group of writers?
Of artists?
Of musicians?
Will there be a creative revolution that brings them to the surface
Like Kurt Cobain and the crowd from Seattle in the 90’s
When it seemed the world was immersed in commercial boredom
Top 40 hits and best selling authors
Who will be our next Burroughs?
Our next Crews?
Our next Nin?
And bring the arts back above ground
At least enough to inspire the next group of youth
Or will the arts lay low
Like leaves of grass for the next Walt Whitman to write about
Without a care in the world