Seeing Francis

1 May 2017

after Francis Bacon’s Self portrait, 1980

I’m embarrassed by your lips
voluptuous almost dewy focal point

oil masquerading as pastel is bleeding
in unfinished fibres you keep your eyes back

near your ear crimson cross hatches
while below your sharp collar jaw
you are undefined and float in blue

a curtain absorbed a permeating mist
we see your weave near to instinct

this is not the colour palette of wounds
but every indelible mark on the unprimed
canvas is as blunt as raw meat

it’s no wonder I can’t hold your gaze
you ask that I stake everything

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