People in black chairs outside conversing,
Surrounded by the thick, sweet scent of pine
That precedes even the flowers of spring.
I miss the salons, the movements, the thought
That comes out of like minds talking as one.
We've missed out on things that we could have taught
Ourselves about culture, what art has done.
The cafe brings us the promise of art
Lifted from the shackles of Heidegger,
Kant, existentialist angst. A new heart
Can now be born, flowering within her.
We sit at the black tables, lean in close,
Art's new medicine is the strongest dose.
No comments:
Post a Comment
I appreciate all constructive comments.