They laugh
at the end of another exhibition
parting ways and saying goodbye
to the ephemeral nature of it all.
Then to their beds,
they press themselves quickly
into the grinding heat of
another day.
And then it’s back to work,
to the mind,
to instinct
to whatever love
whatever virtue
they can muster for their art,
what’s left is saved as tears
and kept for tomorrow,
for these exhibitionists
use everything.
And then the rest of the day
they do whatever they have to
to Keep it light,
to keep it easy,
and to be ready,
for another flight of fancy
another night to fight
the ennui.
Till the next day,
then the next,
then the next.
With minor miracles
on their side,
tender mercies
till the sun blows up.
Wrote this thinking of all the exhibitions I've been going to, it's wonderful meeting new friends and learning from whatever 'minor miracles' you can find hanging on the walls. But also how transient the experience is, like everything's experienced through smoke. But I love the people, the jokes the engagement with life and as much as I used to feel tense at shows, it's all easing up now in equal measure. All this comes with letting go, putting the 'self' aside, holding firm to what really matters, love and people.
