Ingrès’s Violin Is Out Of Tune

And the rock stars want to paint,
daub, splatter canvasses of Mick looking
poster-paint-rendered with a 5-inch brush

While the actors want to sing,
wail, warble derivatives of Ed’s ditties
auto-tuned, blanded to an irritating chirp.

But the celebs want to write,
scrawl, scribble ghost-written bollocks,
spell checked, sensitivity-read to best-sellerdom.

So the writers want to shout,
scream, bellow at the injustice,
baked-in, hard-wired to the only game in town.

Audio here