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The blue it speaks so full It's like the beauty one can barely stand Or too much things dropped in your hand And there's a green like the peace In your heart sometimes Printed underneath the sheets of ashy snow And there's a blue like where the urban angels go, very bright Now the Calder mobile tips a biomorphic sphere Then it swings its dangling pieces round to other paintings here
Your behavior is so male It's like you can't explain yourself to me I think I'll ask Renoir to tea For his flowers are as real as they are all the time And the sunlight sets the furniture aglow It's a pleasant time as far as people go, how far do they go? Well his roses are perfect and his words have no wings I know what he can give me and I like to know these things
I met her at the funeral She said I don't know what he meant to me I just know he affected me An effect not unlike his art, I believe
The service starts and we are in the know He had so much to say but more to show, and ain't that true of life? So we weep for a person who lived at great cost Yet we barely knew his powers till we sensed that we had lost
A friend and I in a museum room She says, "Look at Mark Rothko's side Did you know about his suicide? Some folks were born with a foot in the grave, but not me, of course" And she smiles as if to say we're in the know Then she names a coffee place where we can go, uptown Now the painting is desperate, but the crowds wash away In a crowd of kind pedestrians who've seen enough today
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