ART SHOW
The unflinching museum guard
stares straight ahead as if
fixated upon another creation.
Where his eyes end, perhaps
his mind begins.
-
If there was another entrance,
through Breughel, perhaps, I'd
push him there. It would do me
good to see him in terror; disembodied,
a flaccid arm on a pumpkin head.
It has its own seasonm after all.
-
Instead, he remains - stiff and aloof,
as framed and hard-varnished as any one
of these pathetic and very old paintings.
-
I read the surface cracks as I would some
ancient, chiseled language. A tired hieroglyph,
a cuneiform from Hell; the sign language
os a mute and weary God.
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