The Death of Subtlety
The sound of falling dust hitting a hard surface sounds like the death of subtlety.
In the twenty-first century a pernicious, lamentable decree.
The deaths of subtlety.
Subtlety in thought,
One more funeral, a gathering distraught.
Subtlety in action, where all nuance has been traded in for cheap satisfaction.
Subtlety of the senses.
Where minds warped attend to the minds of others’ expenses.
Where concentration of attention is mercilessly attenuated in the occupancy of one’s mind.
Subtlety of expression where all manifestation is a form of blatant, blandish, confession.
Subtle volume disappearing as a faint plume.
Discrete decibels drowning amidst an ocean of distortion and din.
The death of subtlety.
Subtlety of taste,
No time, so you copy and past.
Dinner plans made, don’t want to be late, and off you go with utmost haste.
But haste makes waste.
The death of subtlety,
a funeral for taste.
Think about this as you excrete that hasteful waste.
Who is it exactly that is making all this haste?
And I this face,
reading to you from this place,
A noun of many.
A verb of taste.