Our Lives As Fiction

I can no longer go

to the places art hangs out

Flea-markets-yard-sales-estate-sales-heck-mid-scale-hotels-sometimes 

without taking…

      … surreptitious snapshots

of all the oil-based-still-lives

water-colored sailboats 

and occasional knock-off Mondrians

by the hands of amateur strangers

Because you won’t let them see

These masterpieces:

The one of the Russian sub disaster with the crazy dark blue you invented 

floating downward

Only a house for a boat

Lit from the inside

Slow diagonal slide

Or that same impossible blue

Night this time, rising with an arc of lights

Rivaling the stars

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