cheap white-goods at the dreamtime sale

if only the alloy-winged angels could perform better

and lift Uluru; a site with grandeur

the neolithic additive missing from that seventh wonder of the

world expo,

under the arms of a neon goddess, under the hammer in London,

murderers turning trustees

a possession from a death estate

maybe flogged off to the sweet seduction of yen

to sit in the halls of a Swiss bank

or be paraded around Paris’ Left Bank

where the natives believe

that art breathed for the first time;

culture, bohemian and bare and maybe brutal

and how the critics neglect the Rubenesque roundness of a

bora-ring

unfolded to an academia of art

yes, that pure soil in front of you

the dealers in Manhattan lay back and vomit

they’re the genius behind dot paintings and ochre hand prints

rattling studios from the East Side to the Village

and across the ass of designer jeans

porcelain dolls from Soho wanting a part in it so bad

as the same scene discards their shells upon the catwalks

like in the land of the original Dreaming

comatose totems litter the landscape

bargains and half-truths simmer over authenticity

copyright and copious character assassination on the menu

sacred dances available out of the yellow pages

and

cheap white-goods at the Dreamtime sale!