Two hundred meters away from a beautiful life

Two hundred meters away from a beautiful life

This modern temple of worship
these masses of viscid fluttering
gawking at dead aegyptians
laying on display.

Neatly assembled
hordes of female semi-fainting
standing in doorways
undecided which door to
block next.

Hives of asians and french
these dances in flocks
around the most prominent
artifacts yelling
yelling yelling yelling
always this yelling
a synchronised concerto of dissonance.

(And you just want to
yell "stop yelling!" but
that would probably
kill the irony budget
for a year.)

All taking pictures
with screaming flashes
and silly handclap sounds
so as to blind and deafen
the past and the living.

I flee to Picasso...
the people are calm
the flashes turned off
the paths are open
and so it seems
even in the face of
Picasso, Goya, Rembrandt
for many:

the corpses win.