SELF-PORTRAIT AS A YOUNG MAN
There you are then. Up to what? See if I stick
to my spectre role? eyes you then recognise
squeeze into yours, so you’re alive
as under gooseflesh, ‘A Graze
of Age-Old Breath’? No sweat, jerk off
my present nature, come soft-cheek, recoil
at my oils, I can read you. Marrow
stretches in your snapping bones,
how you quiver, what overflows so, spatters
the walls with Spunks of Light, glare, flaming storms –
Make no mistake now, all in principle
is present and we live immortally
in contradiction. Life Eternal? I’m
filled with blood the instant you repeat me,
my body’ll fit me naturally like a glove –
earlobe that glistens, hair wired to scalp, world
cheek by jowl, a mask glued to my phiz
and you’ll be there. Material differences
cheerfully raised, erased. There you are then.
No comments:
Post a Comment