(About a 1 minute read)
I studied fine arts at the College of Whitmore
Where my professors described me as
A disgrace to the Masters
But admitted not their envy of my emotionally brilliant
Macramé sculptures of celebrity digestive tracts.
Naturally, my works were conjectural interpretations,
Yet, the public expected them to be representational.
I felt misunderstood
And refused to cater to their insanity.
Consequently, I was devastated the night
When my trusted Brendan confessed to me
(After he’d swilled too much Morgan Davis 20/20)
That he had employed my freely given gift
Of Johnny Depp’s finely-knotted intestines
To hang his potted plants
From the ceiling of a mere bathroom.