Let's workshop this poem about someone putting a damper on black bacchanalia during an absolutely unbeweaveable all-you-can eat Carnival Cruise to the middle-passage waters of the Eastern Caribbean
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Little did he anticipate
the Carnival Cruise, despite
the Groupon deal,
to devolve
into the Walmart of the high seas:
each way he turned
hair hats Tsking
and twerking, fist-fighting
and shouting: “Nigga!”
“We need books that affect us like a disaster, that grieve us deeply, like the death of someone we loved more than ourselves, like being banished into forests far from everyone, like a suicide. A book must be the axe for the frozen sea within us.”—Kafka (against the safe-space cancel culture pushed by anti-art bullies, left and right)