Wednesday 7 March 2007


Self Portrait 1669.
No grand hat or flowing sleeves,
Just a black slash below the neck.
The skin is now slack
And the fat lacquered
Cheek is pitted and cracked.
I'm no longer the flaxen lad
But a familiar to the rack,
The scratch of the sackcloth
And the hacking taste of ash.
This is my final attack -
Death is not a vacuum,
More like a latch on a wrecked
Door into a packed room
And actually no paint is a match.
It's time I faced facts.

2 comments:

Anonymous said...

I like this one Dan - It's very revealing - there seems to be a theme developing - no?
D

cordersinthehague said...

Daniel,
YOU ARE NOT DYING!
Or at least not any more than the rest of us edging our way from cradle to grave.
If you got any healthier than you are now, you'd start getting younger.