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they (in galleries and museums)
they (in galleries and museums)
I know how it ended up
feeling like it has always been
like that
just seeming to mix and match,
a mishmash of gaudy
colors that
never felt right
or lacked cohesion like
the chance that came upon us
like that gaping hole
of the daybreak, when
the sky has been grey all along
It never clears up to
help us break away from the
bleak horizon like
the light that should have shown us
a clear and wide path
because it never will; it never shall
tell us anything at all
the way words are not part
of anything expressed in the visual
that's how colors are
being studied by those who
are thoughtfully real,
rather than the ones
on earth with a much wider appeal;
yet I wonder if they could ever steal
what's deemed essential
for them, who can't belong,
because they're regarded as mentally ill
