the artists poem

I've been an artist for 10 years

the world of art brings me to tears

the nea was in the past

cause the art it supported

was deemed too crass

installation, they call it art,

pennies in a pile

a bottle full of fart

cutting edge, they say its ahead

video art

if you want to make bread

the genre, the masters

worked in times long gone by

oils, and stone, can't catch ones eye

if your working with chisel

you'll be poor when you die

the gallery scene

a business at best

to live. you must fast

treat artists like free slaves

and ask them for half

your works undiscovered

your talents not your name

when your gone your important

but if your not a picasso

you come up lame

rejection, rejection

every day, every day

its a staple of life

forget the insurrection

the course I must stay

painting and sculpting

with no pay causes strife

if it weren't for the beauty

I'd choose a new life