Pounding thing,
Artificial thump they call music
Is a beast and a noise
An aural irritant
Blithely it grates at my being

Some are inspired to move
None have their mind provoked

It isn’t art
It’s just a commercial
It pushes no boundaries
Supplanting the mediocrity
With the mediocre

It disgusts me.

It is a beat.
It is a a rhythm
Not my beat or rhythm

Not any that advances the
Culture
Expands the art or the mind.

It’s horribly nice.

It isn’t music

It’s a club on a Saturday night
That I want to leave.

And never come back.