A Whiney Lament O'er Dying Form

No one wants to read love sonnets these days.
We’re busy following what Paris tweets,
And devouring each word Gaga says.
Why think, when you can “stream” while Snooki bleats?
Will writes, “Brevity is the soul of wit.”
How accurate that is today seems sad,
As we gauge our success by total “hits;”
Courting fame on electronic doodads.
We prefer shock to awe – ignoring art
And substance in favor of flash. ‘Tis crime
To celebrate invention wrought sans heart,
O’er iambic pentameter and rhyme.
The coffin nails arrive with little flair:
“We wish you luck in placing them elsewhere.”