if you asked me, i'd tell you
that i started reading the master & margarita
in st. petersburg...
then in the warsaw airport...
and that i liked tsar peter's pickled foetuses...
but that i found the hermitage
a bit leopard-print leotard tacky,
i mean a little bit ****;
nah i mean really really **** ha ha,
i mean it was like a carboot sale in essex of a gallery:
classics just jumbled up, a junk shop in the least;
homelesssness of paintings invoking
a translation of the cube into traffic parallels:
like a desecrated jewish graveyard of paintings
stacked against each other like tombstones.