mausoleum museum

i went to see art today. and somehow instead it saw me. it pulled me into it with its sharp dark cityscapes and its bending gulping sky. i saw the sky swirling down into the city like a vortex both pulled and pulling and the briske slanted lines of the buildings sloping up to reach and pierce it and also sliding into meaningless dark. i saw a crowd of lovers wrapped in layers of cloth and shadow huddle together on park benchess and understood somewhere deep in me why it was called Solitude. - recognized my face in the lonely watcher who bent himself against a tree trunk as though maybe sacrifice would cure it. i saw strange boxes nest next to words that told the story of a girl who was (she really was) beautiful and i did not see the fitting but stood and strove to for minutes and centuries and still it nags at my mind. i read thoughts on love and eternity and without meaning to fell into the dark charcoal beside it. and was wrapped and warped in it till neither time nor love were- but simply are. and perhaps i am still there. i went in to see art. in the midst of the well lit graveyard that sat behind glass with clinical etiphaphs to mark their passing. thos things were sharp shining. dull and rounded. and dead. they lay pinned and frozzen in silicon tombs while casual clumsy toed wanderers place their faces against the light and brush the ghosts away. but they saw me. the ghosts and the art. they saw me together. and maybe now i am one of them.