9313. I HATE JAZZY ART

I HATE JAZZY ART

And, yes, the streets these days are

full of it : like an Andy Warhol laser

to the brain. Items remarked in their

subterfuge : metal trees in the space

of a park, a false fire burning in the

guts of a manufactured deer. I just 

don't know. But I do know the million

dollar ladies will keep coming to see

it, with their real-fur brassieres and

their candy-colored panties  -  the

limp and the blimp, together.

-

For now they build museums for

these very-certain things : the suave

element of fashion and style combined

to produce the auction and art of the

social and wine. Lined up for canapes

neath their canopies, while their drivers

wait in the cars. Time loses its meaning

when its only on a wrist. I hate jazzy

art, and this is the worst of it. A hundred

afternoon ladies, each raring at the bit.