Dave Bonta's "Art world" is a tiny poem, only a few lines, and it works by quietly changing what "art world" means. We expect galleries, collectors, and reputations. Instead, the poem says morning itself "comes out / in the best art," as if the daybreak is the finest work on display and needs no frame or audience.
The second stanza pushes the idea further. There is "no ring to own," which could suggest no prize, no possession, no circle to belong to. There is also no "business / to busy up," a playful phrase that turns "business" into something you'd only make busier by fussing over it. The speaker seems relieved to step away from all that.
The mood is calm, light, and a little wry. The speaker doesn't sound angry at the art world, just uninterested in its hustle. What's left is a feeling of ease: beauty arrives freely, and nothing is required of you except to notice it.