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. ■