An Urn of Cough Drops Arts Decay

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Art’s Decay

A hall of tilted canvasses
Leans out abreast the passers’ screens;
Beyond dust-blinded cataracts,
Streaks dim the glow of LCDs.
O Janitor — custodian,
Whose beat it is, this dusty path—
Will art’s decay be captured
In a dismal cell phone photograph?

The Poems of Mister Miner | Commentary by R. L. Seasoning | Next Poem