PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Statues that fear nearby mirrors,
wary of these obelisks in granite smears.
They say to themselves:
"Such creatures must surely be of old fiction!"

Canvasses left, still dripping,
beneath broad lamps of artificial light.
They never quite dry;
but they do become hardened, like molded bread.

Dauntless fools in paint and nude;
they dot each hall and carry on at no one.
When, and if approached,
they scurry all directions and shout out their idolatry.

There are great and hanging ornaments
with wide and gaping holes from thrown rocks.
Drowned in all their splendor,
they now hang and bleed black in mighty, roaring waves.

Among the halls the voices bicker,
with each concept so self-obsessed and sure:
a thousand senseless thoughts and words
that combine to form nothing, beyond unsettled bowels.

And then there are booths and displays
that one may then hide in with someone quite attractive.
You can't recall the piece's stage,
but you can remember the color of its floor.