The falsehood of paid “artists” and the dim Earth policy

pacific salesmen set to depone their sense of calories and soil
here, into the adjacent assailant crossing the muddy street timbre
halophilous corn starch from the roots and the fungi elevators
not on our shirts do we transpose the elemental caffeine temples
not under nose rings, but under portending halo weather sounds

art should only be thought amateur if the creator lacks experience
income has nothing to do with experience to grace in will posture
we see in your secret goals, if all paid artists were good, time grasps
life would show that enlightened culture would lend peace to Earth
the testimony of brush strokes and song shines better underground

condemning culture to confuse capital with art hurts generations
ages go without soft reason eclipsing the ruling party stations
severed from societal measures art can mature to fractal farming
once engaged with standards of lived experience all time is included
the wordsmith or painter or songstress finds panels in the personal

the professional “artist” is the technocrat of generational wealth
opposed to open access education and concealed in profit-making
there are no doors for a real artist to deploy but what they create
the only blood left drawn for the experienced artist is in nuance
the binding hope that independent minds will measure the grains