Art is only beauty and refinements
for aesthetics and stories
ressources and talents,
as an accomagnement of motions.
If an artist cannot
explain it then they are only sellers
of decor and symbols
of pretends - but the coin eludes.
for it can't be appreciated.
In the madness of boredom consumed
to make socio-nomic systems
'as you bought that
it means' - but they are all slung
back to the basics
of it's only things and they are
unable to tell of it
as they only recognize brands
as its advertisements.
The priestess gowns for a bath robe
was found in a thrift store
it was without a name
once belonged to a high class escort.
It's only to scry into it
as a Deja Vu it passes
by my third eyes do I see through hers
and we sense it both,
then smile "I am also yours"
as I swoon thy robes.
But as for all codes and encryptions
are as redundant as software
which is never used,
for all their ciphers in language is lost
with nothing to tell with it
it is all revealed as it is :
As clawmarks on an empty slate
as it evades them :
They sense not as we do
our belongings
Like an ancient emperor, coin struck
by hand, as another thrift
of the stories untold,
It was quite expensive - but so odd,
out of place in the piles,
it had to be picked
before somebody else noticed
the strangeness of
its size, weight and measure
for its time and era.
It's story eludes me still - but as
inheritance squandered
was it then reclaimed
as it was passed on - remniscences
of a past which lingers
worthy of its remembrance
and the appreciation
of the laying of it,
into a thrift art collectionaire,
"once ages hence"
As for the escortee ? - She's cute
but as for conversations ;
as our custom keeps
them as nameless as the bath robe,
and unknown as the coin
when it was found - a little privacy
and discretionary tales
to be in a sacred space
goes a very long way for the road
which as future past -
It is as the ancient coin for a mystery
as it only passed through
nameless hands, pockets
was it used to buy, sell, exchange,
a mountain of things ;
was it saved for the droughty years
but the monsoons came
and it departed keepsake :
In such a strange coin encompassed
our entire civilization.
But wait - was it the priestess or
was it the empress
or a queen or a princess - whom
was behind the veils ?
"It is I - Shúen" - she whispers
as Sheir dyes into me,
do I dye into Heirs
for Heirs is th- Kingdom come
there we both are.
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