By Thomas Page

There’s something comfortable in what the Modernist hated—

The risk of routine settling fauve motions into mechanics–

That define the human part of the spirit

The need for consistency in each experienced sunrise

That sets the stage for the actions most desired by the critics

The permanent fourth wall that looks at the back of your head

That does not need to be melodramatized with bloody eyes

Or cast in fantastic displays of aquapaint or gels

That can truly be what it’s meant to be

Which can appreciate the fantasy of the art on the wall seen in the museums

When we want to vacation from the consistency of the rising sun

To find a more spiritual plane beyond the human.

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