If our way of life, modern and technological, is a work of art
It is certainly a beautiful one among them

Clean lines, subtle and vibrant color schemes
Endless metamorphosis of interpretation

We have used the finest materials
We have spared no expense
We have restricted no hand

Yet if our way of life is a work of art
It may also be short lived

A mandala experiment in the throws of its finishing touches

Look, the artist has become attached
She has fallen
in love

Can a preface be written to these grains of color?
I am simple
I am your permanent exhibit
You made promises
My flaws are yours

You should know by now the gods are little satisfied to let remain
What hangs on walls
What rests on floors is

Swept up in the moment
Swept up in laughter

Tragedy does not contemplate its empty foyer
It only knows itself, and mourns.


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