Archaeology is the closest thing to art
It plays the necessary part
Of discovering a perspective never seen before
A little dot then making my allure
Let me setting set the wedding whiter than a sandy shore
Not a beach but we are in a field of snow
All is white and fresh, unsown
At first beauty then wind blown
I am losing my attention
Spanning edgeless blank dimension
It is unmarked to incredible degree
As I scan the pearly vision my eyes alight on not a thing
Imagine that
A world unchanged and entirely predictable
Where the greatest claim you make is kicking up a little blow
First the footprint fills as angry mark turns lump then whiter grin
The forces felling difference like the forecast blots the sun
Excuse me, sin
And so I kick kick kick
I scrape scrape scrape
I lick lick lick
I rake rake rake
Falling to the ground in mental break break break
Hm
What is that?
I see red in tiny rows
I see white more pure than snow
I reach slowly towards a strangely opaque orb all nestled low
Oh my god a spark of color
Oh my god a ruddy brother
Twins of sight so tiny, buried, but aglitter among the flurries
It's an iris grown of blue with heart of black and pupils too
It's the only interesting thing I've even seen in this white room
Then I realize THIS IS ART!
THIS IS ART!
And now I know
Art is eyeballs in the snow
Art is unexpected growth
Set there before you now but as something you could never ever show
Imagine that
Unearthing the whites which blend in with the blanket
Confused by the little blue and red veins and
unsure what you were looking at at first
Until the pupil meets your gaze too
And you have to do one of those icy air gasps
Because you didn’t expect what you were looking at to look back
Imagine that