3620. COMMINGLING OF NATURES

COMMINGLING OF NATURES

And all that tumult. All that roaring.

I swear we see things that are not and

simply call them real : that time-worn

essence, now so all around us.

-

I walk 57th Street, end to end, and

see nothing but the striving for natures

of human form and silt  -  those miserable

self-portraits all lining the street. At the

Art Student's league I peer in to see

where I'm headed. Oh God, someone

recognizes me and I must say hello. The

lady looks like a frog, and she seems to

have grown so old. She goes to museums

on Tuesday to avoid the crowds?

-

Well, that's what she said and I'll

have to accept. And then the door

swings shut and she is gone. The

noise rises  -  streetscapes come alive.

One could not paint a still-life here

even if one tried.

-

Were you out at morning's light?

The tumult, the commingling of natures.