Dostoevsky loves you
Taylor Swift
You’re on the grift
Surely
Your greatest asset
Even starved of makeup
Maybe your lips
Retorted slips
Glossed over,
And all those ships
Sailing into the night
Boys as BFFs;
In metaphoric delight
You’re side-slippin’ jazzy sevenths
In three chord operas
Now your songs sing
The way your heart beats
The way you greet peeps
You might be an angel,
…sweet
You’re way too fast
A reluctant stranger
Life’s hard for the greatest preacher
But not for you
There’s bigger fish to fry
OMG — they’re all gonna die
Gettin’ tickets to your show
Imagine catching covid and not being able to go
Dostoevsky would have loved you
For leaving the intelligentsia in a stew
Living the life all chunky whole
With no more needs and no funk hole
Your art is your word, your bond
Don’t let some college steal your show
You might be a doctor of letters…or whatever
But you’re no average joe
Of that I can be pretty sure
Because Fyodor doesn’t love them
Nor their exclusive tone
When you tighten on your capo
Marxist theories just seem overblown
