The Blue It Speaks So Full

It's Like The Beauty One Can Barely Stand

Or Too Much Things Dropped In Your Hand

And There's A Green Like The Peace

In Your Heart Sometimes

Printed Underneath The Sheets Of Ashy Snow

And There's A Blue Like Where The Urban Angels Go, Very Bright

Now The Calder Mobile Tips A Biomorphic Sphere

Then It Swings Its Dangling Pieces

Round To Other Paintings Here



Your Behavior Is So Male

It's Like You Can't Explain Yourself To Me

I Think I'll Ask Renoir To Tea

For His Flowers Are As Real As They Are All The Time

And The Sunlight Sets The Furniture Aglow

It's A Pleasant Time As Far As People Go, How Far Do They Go?

Well His Roses Are Perfect And His Words Have No Wings

I Know What He Can Give Me And I Like To Know These Things



I Met Her At The Funeral

She Said I Don't Know What He Meant To Me

I Just Know He Affected Me

An Effect Not Unlike His Art,

I Believe



The Service Starts And We Are In The Know

He Had So Much To Say But More To Show, And Ain't That True Of Life?

So We Weep For A Person Who Lived At Great Cost

Yet We Barely Knew His Powers Till We Sensed That We Had Lost



A Friend And I In A Museum Room

She Says, "Look At Mark Rothko's Side

Did You Know About His Suicide?

Some Folks Were Born With A Foot In The Grave, But Not Me, Of Course."

And She Smiles As If To Say We're In The Know

Then She Names A Coffee Place Where We Can Go, Uptown

Now The Painting Is Desperate, But The Crowds Wash Away

In A Crowd Of Kind Pedestrians Who've Seen Enough Today.