after Achilles Mourning the Death of Patroclus (1962)

There’s no myth yet
about his birth, except
Lexington is a military town.
Later: chariots, battles.








His father was a White Sox pitcher.
His father was an Italian ceramicist.
















Drafted into the army,
on leave in a motel room;
drawing in the dark
to cast a fog
over skill, technique.
Discharged for anxiety.

At Black Mountain College
swift-footed RAUSCHENBERG
tried to drown in Lake Eden.
Gentle TWOMBLY
called his lover back to the shore.
RAUSCHENBERG in the black
their clear affection &
the clear genius of (t)his lad
almost crossed him out.












Once in the eternal city
he photographed you five times,
headless on the basilica stairs.
Now they’re displayed in reverse;
you enter from above
more workshirt, more bluejeans,
more buttonfly. As though
you’re approaching
when in fact you stepped back.








If we begin with the sketchbook study
he’s a red ballpoint capillary
dreaming crossed-out PATROCLUS.












But on the yawning canvas
he’s a displaced sea anemone
unmade by carmine grief.
























reaching one tendril down
to palm the sand
one tendril up to touch
what’s coming next










PATROCLUS was ACHILLES’S ‘closest
companion’.






Since AESCHYLUS we have argued
over the fruit/less question:
(our interest fresh as wet paint)
were ACHILLES and PATROCLUS in love?












Who played the part
of the lover? Who played
the beloved?




                                           Or did a switch
                             hitter step up to plate?




























Beneath the text 
ACHILLES and PATROCLUS fuck
like deathless horses.