The machine killed creativity
I saw it for myself.
It bludgeoned all artistic strides
and massacred the rest.
Musicians were first bound to atoms
and then cast down to synthesize.
Pouncing notes on keyboards
for light waves to analyze.
Painters great were also slaughtered
by brushes of true bits.
Destined for the graphic tabs
and bland electric tits.
Sculptors once again were chained
by circuit boards and digits
building funky little trites
of solder, wire and widgets.
Writers were then gathered up
and tortured by their software
making acronym of literature
and cleansing hard drives bare.
Movie folks were also brandished
and scattered without vision
destined for the rerun click
on the mouse of indecision.
Poets, whom of course were last
bore out the worst derision
for they were left with just a hint
of electric mysticism.
The machine killed creativity
I’ll show no remorse
I’ll keep my wafers powered up
for the next new resurgent force.
THE CIRCUS . . . . . . . . . AND THE ZOO 
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