CONCEPTUALISM IS DEAD
Charlie Day, little bear cub, come bite my lip.
I love every thing I’ve never touched.
When the child was a child, he put
everything to his lips. A cause célèbre.
My diet of labor-intensive collage.
Art installation the child of my heart.
I am basically begging for it, but it is
the revolution not cock. Oh, glamourpuss.
Colleagues are policing with compassion.
Curatorial vision for my favorite flavor.
Hell is around the corner—temper, temper.
Your big bad superlatives meet my best twist.