Writer, This is Stupid Stuff
A modern take on A.E. Housman
Writer, this is stupid stuff,
Does anybody care about your wins?
Your pompous huffs and puffs of nothingness
has me breathless on airs so thin.
Oh, yes, this is stupid stuff.
Stitched with hollow thread,
no weight, no hold, no truth, no dare —
just words as bland as white bread fare.
An AI word, an AI rhyme!
Gag me on this senseless slime.
Perform the Heimlich, pound my back.
Free me from this verbose crap!
Slap me silly! Shake me hard!
Splintering, sputtering words like shard.
AI this. AI that.
Rhyming couplets in a vat,
simmered and fried in digital fat.
Lines too drippy, lines too raw —
Where’s the sizzle? Where’s the zest?
Why would you plate this run-on mess?
Oh, Writer, this is slimy stuff,
a gooey glob, with no finesse
a stickless display with not much sense,
a Lil tyke’s concoction, crude and quick,
mangled and pulled…
