I wrote this to underline the essence of words and art in my normal view of the world. I cannot read it without feeling the influence on my creativity of the Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art here in Kansas City.
Museums manifest portraits of phrases distinctive in content and style. Landscapes listen as locutions rain down from sky and grow up from lawns of golden wheat. Installations involve consonants sprinting to vault vowels while scattering crumbs of words and letters across the ground. Sculpture parks parade bronze allocutions of unique stature across green grass in living color. Wouldn't it be fun to work out in a gigantic iambic pentameter? How about rolling about on slides of S and C? The forever of O? Or, hike to the peak of capital A to catch a Technicolor rendering of a new commentary for old readers seated on multi-colored zafus and zabutons. How to reach level ground after the peak of A? Jump to join the contact sport of phonics or, if not up to snuff, sit with the Yellow Birds on their low risers of great expectation. Enjoy the alphabet's 26 paratrooper patrol positioning into paraphrase of limitless number in the sky at sunset. Stars. Quiet up front!. Hush. Poets are reading their poems in the middle of the street. Listen! Close your eyes. Words feel like art to me.
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