twee surgeon

the body of your work a misbegotten corpus
forget about the dolphins, you're living out your porpoise

take refuge in the past, the modern world is so confusing
cupcakes & vintage clothes, it's the future you're refusing

sugar coated artifacts, we knock them back like sweeties
I think we're suffering cultural diabetes
I know it's overkill & there's more important things, but
let's cut the twee in half that we may count its wings

got no drive or forward thrust, all the vectors are inertial
the soundtrack of your life, "Now That's What I Call Bank Commercials"

anything that doesn't soothe you must therefore be agonising
well I'm quite calm I can assure you, but thanks for all the patronising