Museum of Art and Eggs

We are made of the art that comes before us. The paint flakes off and becomes our skin. We cannot escape the art museum, and it cannot escape us. Every canvas is a mirror. I see past lovers in every film. In this ekphrastic poetry collection, Jarred Corona explores what it means to consume and to be consumed, to love and be loved, to hurt and be hurt. Of course, there are plenty of eggs along the way. What else would you throw at the exhibits?