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“sick of being decent, he craves another/crash. What reaches him except disaster?”

Self-Portrait, 1969


No longer young but incapable of looking old

The face sashays between a manic nubile pose

& morning’s shadows, subtle wrinkles

Striking at the edges of things, in certain lights,

Hard, yet the child still leans out the eyes’ raw

Sills, collects rusty flotsam, story tells,

Yearns for some rupture it can’t act out now,

A Jack Danielled animalism or even, the blind

Endorsement of muses, racing to them in Turkey

Or Deux Montagnes – what was that capacity

To feel little but the moment’s wild hurtling

Towards words? She cleans a lot now, wants her

Coffee rampant but days otherwise sedate, making is what burns

& the longing for what (somehow) remains.