Ars Gratia Artis
Off to the museum of art we go,
with her in front, and me in tow.
Absorb some culture! See the show!
She stands before some framed mish-mash,
that seems to me a plate of hash.
“Look closely at this painting dear,
do you find deep meaning here?”
I stand and gaze professorial style,
with stifled laughter, stifled smile.
I poke my finger in the air,
with a critical look, and a critical flair.
“It’s the product of a master’s hand,
primordial dawn, in a primordial land.
The miasma of some cosmic mind,
chaos complete, yet well defined.
The music of a soul in pain,
yet a symphony of sweet refrain.
A vision of the astral maw,
or perhaps he simply couldn’t draw!’