Content
Class and Criminality
A blue-eyed diamond scratched by rough,
that’s Francis Bacon standing at the gate
into yesterday, corner of Romilly Street,
the emergent demo of an image
shaping up like inspirational exhaust
to be trashed in the void of raw canvas
or climaxed into complementaries
red/green, orange/purple, blue/yellow etc;
and those drizzle-hazed afternoons we’d meet
seem jumbled timeframes with a clarity
degraded by reinvention, detail
crumpled into a burning photograph,
and what you called the edge of criminality
implicated in creative assault,
like the smashed glass inside the poem’s core
I cut my hand on every day…