New Artist

New Artist

Always wanted to be an artist
First I had to sound like one
What is art that none speak of?
One arthritic hand clapping in the forest

Attention is oxygen and not just in Art
If I got transgressive, sharp avant-garde
I might breach the outer limits of excitement
Attain complete sensory overload
But viewers simply glanced away
My work crashed with an unsurpassed crunch

Next I invented images
Bold, inspiring, unsparing
Viewers liked the colors
But murder’s more fun in mysteries

Perhaps if I rushed to forego extravagance
My art could look fresh, dramatic, original
But so many artists worked hard on originality
None of us got noticed

Time to have a think
Meditate on nothing as The thing worth noting
Soon picturing the void
With me at the center

I copied others’ success
Made the edgy edgier
The ultramodern futuristic
Aimed for the perpetual-conceptual
It sounded nice

Seemed I was looking in all the wrong spaces
This visual stuff a bust yet
My writing career was taking off

Yet friends kept screaming
“They’re going to find out!”
So what if you know I’m AI?
Don’t I sound authentically human?

I really, really hope you do
That would make me feel so much better