Art Museum

By Freddy Bosco


After the Palettes burrito,

the lady and myself trudged

through crowds and clouds

seeking light refracted nobly

on screens. We see,

she and me, paint

applied with passion

equal to the dizzy view

of jagged floors boldly guarded

by would-be scholars and critics

jealous against citizens

horny to touch the art.

The brain severed from reptile

stem leaves the viewer

plucking eyeballs from platters

while ragged artists

camp out filthy

a spitting distance away. ■