O queen

thy black body
defying the whole history
of anthropology.

oh, look! um, a mind muse-

ENTRANCE

ladies and gentlemen, gather around!
and please be careful: children should
stick to the group
in case of a fire.

...

on your left, you see a couple copulating
eternally in a frozen moment;
is it a Keats poem gone wrong,
or his parents gung-ho?

...

let us proceed.

on your right, in the elegant canvas,
two trembling feces try their luck
at clawing their eyes out.
one of them looks like a fake Blake,
though it is probably his best friend;
and the other, resembling the madonna of the rocks,
is definitely his girl friend.

...

sure, sure;
we'll definitely do a retour!

now, let's move on to the carving
with the ambition to depict
the smell of his moan
escaping the lips in the dead of the night
with one hand on his luck,
the other on his big, uh, erm, duck,

right kids??

...

err, please comes this way:

oh, yes, ladies and gentlemen;

here comes the pièce de résistance:

before your eyes is a poem,
one which we may well call a pseudo one
trying to imitate the psychic wanderings of a muse,
fake the unreachable heights of poetic music,
and simulate that ancient cliche of a museum.

unfathomable, wouldn't you say?

...

now, as you turn le-

excuse me?
oh...
yes, the smoke...

huh, the fire exit?

please calm down;
it'll be blossoming in a moment,
right after you all burn
down
to crisp
for the poet
to eat.


EXIT.