Art assignment deferred,
Deadline tomorrow.
So seek the monolith,
Go forth to the Rose.
Descend the bone bleached step spiral
Skirt the divider and enter
The Lois Foster Gallery.
There it is,
Big, blue,
Impossible.
Approach that sovereign form,
God of canvas,
Dominator of the gallery floor.
Mindfucker, postmodern trash
Made of trash.
The lord bristles with spikes,
Glass shards, plastic knots
Like tree burls loaded with
Parasitic wasps.
Ten, twelve feet tall.
Solid blue turns to ripples,
Curved rings of swirls of paint on paint,
Depictions of brush strokes.
Painting paint. Painting
The act of painting.
Can you believe that?
Oceanic breadth,
It could still be wet, you wouldn’t know.
Bubbles of aquamarine, royal suede.
You could touch it,
Step inside it.
Instant transmission,
Blue Planet.
Before you know it,
The kingly portal has devoured your field of view.
It’s too wide for this place,
It should be locked up,
Or torn to shreds.
How long have you been here?