Bax

Nobody likes damn Bax but me

And even then his pirouettes can be

asphyxiant as bland

archer's inconstant target miss or psychodramatics pretentious and

overladen by fresh themes in

misconceived half melodies that

strive in overt confusion to avoid

scenes of ecstasy:

innards made of cinematic

cardboard and cellophane ersatz glass

where false feel inward psychic minions

fake clash pseudotragic sounding smash

arriving replete with stale mimesis of

searing boredom done again and again

like banquet breakfast omelettes for

hundreds forced to listen to

a halfemotive rhetoric

of jittery monotony.Baxonomic contrivances.

            That purely prophetic death of ear.