The Portrait You Gave Me

It’s not you, you said, but I think there’s something similar in the look. Seven days, you tell me now. That´s all I’ve got. Seven days, or you’re going to the cops. You’re not afraid of the cops. You want it back. What can I say? You want it back and I remember your mouth, usually in bed. But just right now I’m enjoying Phillip Guston: a pyramid next to a giant beat-up shoe—— the desert’s red and the sky is completely merciless. In the next, he’s lying in bed clutching his brushes. The terror is enormous. Yes, my teeth are falling out and yes, there is no halo around my head. But that hasn’t stopped me from sitting here and singing to donkeys. Their favorite song is “Living in a Land Down Under.” You should see their faces glow. You want it back? I want it too.