Ancient art pretended within a box
bigger than the sky’s dusky humming
starry lights not yet seen but known
depths of monsters in the sea detected.
I wanted for so many years
to live among gods and prophets
writing down the timeless truth
what was strongly felt
stealthy archetype sniffed
out of the sitting in wool
in dirt with a grand view.
Modern art does not get along with
the modernizing in music and the dumbing
down of contemporary jots and tittles
that dull the pummeling of the stolen kiss.
There is a hiss to modern life
like in a house with pinched plumbing
pipes carrying oily water and adding
curl to the fingernails
dead end to arguments
and a mild aftertaste
to burgers and condiments.
Sea of schools where no one talks
made art on business cards and ads
architecture of communication in stone
or elaborate wires in the shape of a head
There is a garage where cars
are parked not driven we sit
either at the wheel blindfolded
or shotgun hoping
to arrive and pull into
the mirror museum
but we are already there.
Art in the future will hold hands
on the front porch with the sunset
and travel to where we speak the language
after we have given up this one.