POSTCARD TO AKRON
I am counting high numbers, what
are they all? Like the stars in the
far-off heavens, these places are
all without number - June, July,
and August together can only
amount to nothing. On the tables
stretched before me, stuck like
spears, the folded white umbrellas
of the art museum's outdoor seating
makes me think of process : like
Art installed by concept, some fey
fellow's umbrella-pastiche of a
now Warholian proportion. Hey!
Sorry than to have to lick your
stamp, but even this postcard to
Akron says nothing special. 'I'll
never hold a candle, I'll never hold
your lamp, you're always a better
artist than me.' No, look around
you Bumptious - nothing is art
if everything is, and postcards
to Akron know better than this.
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