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…gone
the old man was found still
up against his canvas one hundred
years ago
and now sundry gallery-seekers peer
in studious fuddle
at these art-bursts of dead genius
his frenzies frozen into
desiccated evidence on ancient
cracked canvas
Precognition?
Prescience?
Gratitude perhaps?
as he exhaled his Thank Yous heavenward
where his own masters were
above the dusty skylight
somewhere
at the terminus of mystery where
art is sport
-- from Longitudes
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