Artists are mined, Identities extracted. Relations are skin-deep, A safe distance from reality’s creep.
There are platforms and prizes: Are we filling their cup, Or shutting them up? Nice to look at, And oh so easy to cancel. Diversity box we tick Before we give them the flick When the man who signed the missile With the felt tip Gets invited. No one Wants to hear The artist then. Street prayers are bashed and dragged. A bomb is thrown into Mr …
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