Andy Wharol has risen from the bin of the counter culture into some kind of iconoclast.  Truthfully, I don’t quite get the appeal.  Yet, I feel compelled to give recognition where it’s due and it is due.

Subliminity
by Michael Romani

There in the intimacies of poverty
We find the roots of Wharol's legacy
A matter of dinginess balanced with subliminity
Provides the by line for this artist of the century

Searching to go deeper, we find only surface
Flat, lifeless lacking the smallest grace
It's a self commodification for his vanity
Dolloped out in degrees of questionable sanity

Dreadful in knowing there is no spiritual eye
Life is only crass commercialism so it seems
And Andy only wanted his slice of this dead pie
Offering flat iconic images instead of dreams

Once upon a pale, elfish moonbeam
His cockroach period held together at the seams
Sketched in the refinement of a fine line
His temperament was naught but the glossy shine

Of a craven post-modernist maker of tasks 
Shrinked on culture like a carny takes his marks
There where the counter-culture greets the nouveau riche
In this near missed quarter truth that's found its niche

(c) December 8, 2018   Michael Romani
All Rights Reserved