The Semi-Cleansed Palette

And we'll call the dirt art...
A certain form of which, resembles
deliberate strokes of genius
we adjust in a complacent state.
Chaotic, but sperate in a way
less tastefull when the books are closed.
Open wide.
With the mouth of a new-born
I'm eating the few words
you scribbled on paper plates.
Even with all the fuss I can't accept
a little tongue-out-of-cheek
if you expect to force feed me complete
works that have been left to waste.
Shut that toothy grin while your in
a common place novel
second rate to the modern charts
staged to begin their debate on
the semi-cleansed palette...
when dirt's been established as art.
And an impeccable poem
is only considered to be lower totem;
easy to come by, deprived of mistakes.