The Letter O

Artists still starve
We just spend our funding
On shoes and cigars
The new poets
The rock stars
We dress to disclose those arresting letter 'o’s
The fusing of poet and muse
We refuse to be dowdy and murky
Lurking behind our lovelier work
The ‘about the author’ grey
Of the ghostly and obscure
Instead we’re desired
Graceful and starved
On foie gras and pinot noir
Every single piece inspired
By how fucking attractive we are
The bourgeois darkwave, the hipster haze
The language of young women these days