Should poets bicycle-pump the human heart/or squash it flat?
Pacific as a pancake, I say. Make a meal of the human condition. Dine with gusto. Eat with relish. Art is the absence, or the addition of condiments. Cut the mustard. Pass the ketchup. Piss and vinegar. Prick and pickle each and all.
Desire de jour is not enough, because now it’s all post camp and post kitsch and esprit de l’escalier anyway. And for dessert…if you desert politics….pretend that you are above, below, or better than the politics of your time.. your art is but punctuation to the propagandist.
They will review, title and critique, lead and bleed cultural interpretation.
Your efforts, that next Goebbels will ….confiscate… to tastefully display on her walls, and it all warmly appreciated, be assured … as they turn to contemplate which re-education camp is the best fit… for your sorry ass.