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The Art Gallery MAG
Arising from day-to-day monotony,
commuting in vessels filled with important-looking people.
Starch-pressed pants files tucked under arms. Croft and barrow run amuck.
Herds of umbrellas greeted by the rattling of change
cups and the trash can drums of the street musician.
Everyone has somewhere to be.
On hiatus from formal education, I assumed the role as
a student of life.
I delved into the pastels
of older minds from even older times.
In my generation’s eye I looked for
the social progress in the dehumanizing reds and blacks.
Many were without faces, some as detailed
as photographs. Upper, Middle, and
Lower classes portrayed in the same
Lone tenements, women in white, men tearing each other to pieces.
Shameful human mannerisms displayed in subliminal crying whispers.
Blink. Swallow. Digest.