The process of art and artist's promenade have always been difficult to define regardless of perspective.

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Clouds of mystery veil beatified innocents

Sliding on a winding suppressed detour

Stacked with rocks and littered glass

Our apprentices study the boundaries

And decide to investigate beyond the threshold

Initiate a journey to investigate

This indefinable moment

To illuminate and pursue

The passion and work of art

On the meandering path

They behold billboards of distraction

Obstructions in flashing lights and jingles

They hear the fortunate privileged

Ignite the fuse of commercials

Advertising the business of technique

To the sponge of masses

But through the destiny of

Internal aesthetic justice

A wondrous phenomenon of disruption

Explodes unexpectedly

And thunders in recognition

By nomads lost in the wilderness

And the mayhem of world

They are conducted

By an artist’s instrument

To the gods of harmony

And the explanation of humankind

The iconic slumbering artists of history

Decay prominently in Pere-Lachaise

Jangle with the breathing collective leftovers

Subsist around mediocrity and sighs

Outcast

Peculiar

And marginalized

The craft is camouflaged by the intentionally bewildered

Senseless to the possibilities of achievement

And the thunderous truths of the invisible

As they disintegrate and withdraw to obscurity

Exalting the stars with their answers

The medium and the

Touchstones of civilization

Were defined through history

As an artist’s production

That begets the manifestation of us

These chosen few

These artists

Exploring the

Challenging corridors of consciousness

Pursue the natural continual reflection

And expression of what it is to be human

Hear the melodies of spirit

Recognize delight and fury

In the blending of notes

Tints of color

And the composition of words

In this concordant and disharmonious world

The intelligentsia

Huddle and execute smug impersonations

Categorize au courant dilettantes

To the innocent and novitiate

Who were not apprised of violence

And the camera is coerced in sorrow

And pans to Avenue Carette in Pere Lachaise

Where the lips of Oscar Wilde

Contort even tighter

By Giulio Magrini

From: United States

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