This Stuff Ain'T Fresh Poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar

This stuff ain't fresh.
Just restated.
Updated to give it flair.
The same minds will ignore it.
And the proof will be there.

The rhythm changes.
With the same words repeated.
The beat is felt.
With those patting their feet.
A monotony delivers,
An expectation.
Yet no one will listen...
With dulled sensations.

This stuff ain't fresh.
Just restated.
Updated to give it flair.
The same minds will ignore it.
And the proof will be there.

Unless I write something,
About a 'monkey's butt'.
Only then,
Will all eyes stare!