Post-poet Production

Greased gears grind as gummed up with gregarious grammar
stammering in rhyming time to the hammers of keys,
clicking in chittering chattering clattering of characters
in order to unload more unnecessary excessive essays
that can hardly be called hardy poetry.
Although mostly harmless, are definitely artless
fathered by the fearsome poem factory
churning out copious catalogues of compositions
drowning the daring delver in deranged descriptive dialogues,
each word brings an inch of woe without originality
passages and packages of plagiarism
to put off even the most muse filled budding poet,
as the caches of clichés are slaves to the stale style
pounded out in punctual presentation
too boring to even bring irritation.
Steam powered pistons providing the least steamy erotica
mindless mechanisms making mundane metaphors
radioactive robots organising inorganic obvious rhymes:
a true warehouse of horrors
thanks to the lyrical and linguistic errors
of an eccentric inventor
now ex-inhabitant and deceased
interred within their overseeing office
a stiff skeleton watching successive sheets or sordid sentences
rushing onwards with empty intent
as empty as the skull and skill
still grinning as the gears grind and groan
wearing faded competition medals on now bare bones
but still the factory functions even as the initiator is an ex-poet
the eerie epilogue only gets longer
and the groaning gears get louder.