Jeff Koons on the Roof, Metropolitan Museum of Art, 2008
...And look! On your right is the children's pageant for adults. Gold.
It's translucent. It's colored-in. It's what is lost. Gold. You may Gold
notice Gold there are no children present. Raise your hand if you can
hear that God crinkle of faux-cellophane from on your left: Gold saffron
gift-heart. Some of you will Gold want to visit the gift shop
for a travel-sized Gold tourniquet version—later. We are now
crossing the one hundred years of dust. The sun is hot. Up ahead, Gold Gold Gold Gold
balloon dog, looking rather acid-test-green in this light, says, First place!;
says, Joie de vivre!; says
I H A T E Y O U, J E F K O N S.
Oh, yes, I am
happy to be here. Thank you for asking. My mother is quite well,
after all. Please, sir: pay attention. This is the spectacle
festival and I see you have all chosen to wear your
mouths, polka dot scarves, and party hats—must each
thing mean? They say
when night temperatures in the desert reach subzero,
the best chance for survival is Gold
to gut an animal and climb inside.