Pictures Aren't the Only Portraits



Who’s afraid of Virgins and Wolves?
The smudge became a portrait of Picasso
And a glass elevator was lowered into the water
An ancient king inside
How was he to breathe?
In portraits lungs aren’t the only organs
How is he to win the accolades?
In autumn pictures aren’t the only portraits
Do not condescend, I am epileptic, I am sober
Do not hold forth the barrier
I have cascaded through sturdier doors
Through great sheets of glass I have fallen
Naked and shaking
Braking the bones that mend
Tearing skin on diamond glass
Do not condescend
And the police force, they appealed
‘We are men, why are we not allowed to kiss’
And the catholic schoolgirls appealed
‘The officers are men, let them kiss before us!’
And the pope looked out his frosted window
He looked out his frosted window
He grabbed his lowered crotch
He clasped it in his bejeweled right hand
He marveled at the world outside his frosted window
He wondered what his brother The Count would do
Poor Dracula, long buried with cape and cigarettes
The topiary appeared to be looking back
The Greek lion, the Japanese crane, the Australian fox
All appeared to be chasing the other
The Lion chasing the fox
The Fox chasing the Crane
The Crane chasing the lion
The Sun chasing the English baker
He the apprentice of another baker
The Baker of Sodom, whom we owe so much
The Pope embraced his crotch
He thought of Sodom
Was there really such a place?
Near Russia perhaps?
He heard the Bakers all cry at once
‘It is our right to see the officers as men kiss before us!’
The pope thinks and looks to me
I look back
I grab my crotch
I am epileptic!
I am Sober!
A thousand thoughts cascading like the images of a broken mirror
Falling to the floor and rearranging them selves
Upon the shelves of my disorientated mind
Do not condescend
The topiary chase one another
They chase another and the pope decrees
You officers of the guard
You whom wish to kiss before the people
You must chase the topiary
Chase them and trap them in a glass box
Have them interred in the sea
The police officers looked up at his holiness
‘We are men, let us kiss, we will catch your hedgerow
but how will they breathe?’
‘Like the king’ was the reply,
For lungs are not the only organs within a portrait
And in autumn pictures are not the only portraits….

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