Richard Blum songs
words&recital rittmo'
Art Galleries
with my holy sneakers
faded sweat shirt and jeans
old enough to jeep me warm
like the one's Momma
bought me in my teens
salesmen flock to me
hang on to my every word
they're certain, I'm rich
eccentric, just waiting
to fullfill an itch
empty my plentiful pockets
the one where it looks like
a man put his fingers in a socket
what's that going for, and the shaggy
haired, undernourished saleman says,
forty two grand
I laugh, I've seen better patterns
on a sonogram. Now they know I'm serious
not a pushover, I continue perusing
who painted that cartoon joan of arc
with rainbowed colored wings
the salesperson looks down and he frowns
it's a lithograph from some unqualified
passerby, don't know how that garbage,
that unsuitable carnage, wound up on our walls
trust me it has no lasting value, everyday
that passes it will be worth less than it was the day before
a lot less commission than forty two grand
so I say I'll take it, do you really want too
yes it will look good on my wall, be a love
and wrap her up!
as to how they price these works of art
is it an act of treason, to like something
for the way joan of arc makes me feel deep down in my heart?
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