Musee with an Accent
 
Paintings, statues, and unclassified works
of value I can't assess dangle without rhyme
or reason from nails I hammered headless.
What appear to be Dollar Tree hooks
I felt sure I lost.   Wire from coat hangers
cursed into bending?   Colors run black
onyx through bone through snow nearly
blue.   Reds  riot  as  reds  are  wont  to.
Green as usual attempts to soothe,  often
ends up playing the ghoul, and yellow,
fighting for its virginity, succumbs more
than succeeds.  Primaries bleed across
the color wheel, are never the same again.
Laser show new -- like it?  Attar of roses
and the smell of new-mown hay entertain
the inner child, as do reaching in to feel
fur, rock, sand, et cet, et cet.  That's on
the mezzanine.  Take the escalator up
to check out our seX eXhibit.  Amazing
paraphernalia.  Highly educational.  Note
the dearth of signs saying Do not Touch.
Here you may feel to your heart's content.
 
Welcome to the gallery in the back
of my head!   Bathrooms right, restaurant,
see map.  No need to go overboard
with the oohs and ahs.  Mess, I agree.  
But it is a mess I cannot help.  As in,
can't help but love.   Back to the restaurant,
do not leave without trying our BLT.
Got your CIA chef-prepared sole, got
your organic nut butters.  Sip espresso
along with tastes of heaven from our dessert
tray.  Mousse, hot fudge, creme broulee. . .
make you ah  for real.  Things suck [assume
you're familiar], got this retreat.  Gallery
temperature- and humidity-controlled, so
the air, if not exactly pure, is a far sight
better than what one runs into Out There.  
Come on, admit you got one.  Lot neater,
I expect.  Less junk, more real finds?  
Still, you slip back to relish treasures
not strictly objets d'art.  Ask if you give
a fig!  Life without collecting out of love?
Please.   Now, let's go back and check
on that masterpiece Van Gogh swirled
to life.   Strikes me as almost as surreal
as that mishmash of non-art drives us here.
Vincent, que pensez-vous ?

(c) Phyllis Jean Green, 2008