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The art is not the art
but the world destroying everything but itself
and what are we to do?
I wish I could believe things the way you do.
The art is not the art
but sharing lunch at the museum cafeteria
with your aged parents and your bored kids.
Soups and drinks spilling. The plastic lids.
The art is not the art
but Beethoven pounding his fist.
Page twenty one. The leaving scene you cannot resist.
The art is not the art
but pets fast asleep on a couch’s pillows and throws.
The art is not the art the professor knows.
The forward moving music in a day offering its day,
the pianissimo rippling the pond of your ear,
has a decision to make. Stop? Or let each instrument
in the orchestra individually fade away?
The art is not the art
except for this arrangement. Thank you for this arrangement.
I never understood the banality of music until now.
He inserted a bass line under the lines of his poem.
But he never told us how.
