Aesthetic Debt

We leave the casino in Monte Carlo.
A ship anchored in calm water.
In a generous gesture,
we suspend our sense of rootedness.
Should art always give pleasure?

What of the natural discourse
between art and the recipient,
the radical highlights,
the dismantled reverence,
religious reverence,
graphic turmoil?

Art is there, waiting.
It forgives a whole town hall of mistakes.
We arrive
with outstanding aesthetic debt.
To say nothing
of harmful critical judgment,
even critical prejudice.
Illuminations are flickering, flickering—
light through porous paper.

I study a lithographic stone
glowing in the dark.
The artist says it is art.
We come out in the open
where elephants are sunbathing.