He moves finance into forms others can’t follow
A magician of money who wishes his means
Might mean something
Yet what lasts?

Boats, planes, wives ephemera
Indexed and taxed by locality and year
He’s got many assets yet not much prestige
Pressure rises inside him to impress
At least himself

But art is iconic, core of a culture
Masters who master the spirits of soul
And he likes the images
Colorful and  comical
Letting him recall past victories
No one else knew

Other poor kids using paint and chutzpah 
Now better known than he
Some worth near as much
He wants in

The museum director a great man
Words the color of marble
You can endow walls, halls,  wings that
Fly above the stratosphere of taste
All named for you in perpetua
He asks how long is that?

The museum director says twenty-five years
In business five years a lifetime 
In museums, five times five forever

His brain soon screens his personal art
Tax write-offs, the discount rate of fame
Debits of a failing world

He is an optimist but not a fool
Twenty-five years should outlast him
Perhaps survive longer than his fears

The pavilion’s name updated
His name celebrated not for eternity
Yet long enough