I walk through museums
for free and treat them like
the rooms of my home;
forcing the public to become private again.
Why white?
Or eggshell
Or pearl
Or milky
Or halls and walls full of
little classical fantasies
everyone wants to feel sacred
obsessed with ivory and waxen faces
Other hues harden
if dug up, does dirt cheapen it?
Clean for coin, for calm, for cabinets
of little souvenirs
If I own something very pure
and expensive, does it make me richer?
Am I a national treasure yet?
Your cold white marble breast
is devoid of areola
is why
you stand there as I walk past you
in my live brown flesh