Ignore it... what bliss Turn your head; find happiness. But you are kindhearted With a crown of intellect Why do you turn away? There is pain at the sight, A most agonizing form If the eyes were to stay. To sit and dwell Is to compose your own Hell. Be dumb and be free; Blind, busy... happy. Let this jungle consume you Let it breathe in your smell. You are part of the cycle The wane... the swell. But who are you, To submit to the great circus? You, A mere speck, on a dot Among an orbit continuum, Life here sustained By the fearsome burning sun. Your head of youth, once filled With intent to be the jungle king. Those lofty dreams now waste away, For your tamer is the ring. All living will decay You, the feeble lion king Lie down Obey

Like a child within the boundary-line confines Of   the parental mind. Where a barren white room, holds the low Echoing words   of imaginary beasts. Where doors stay latched tightly With child-proof locks, Time left to perception, Don't bother hanging clocks. Where promising lies Of a mothers melodic lullabies, Tell stories of a tomorrow guaranteed, Limbs are cloth wrapped, For broken bones of children   miscarried. Where wailing mouths are silenced... Not by the breast, but milk of the flower. They   are weaned on wet bottles, Which give   them feigned power. Now, this dull room stays lit For the comfort of sight. Children like to pretend They have no fright. Sitting like ducks... For their fated good night. Location: Agnes R. Katz Plaza Eyeball chairs by artist: Louise Bourgeois