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More poems by Frank BidartFrank Bidart | Print this page.Print | View and Write CommentsComments | Books by Frank BidartBooks by Frank Bidart

Self-Portrait, 1969

Frank Bidart

He's still young--; thirty, but looks younger--
or does he?... In the eyes and cheeks, tonight,
turning in the mirror, he saw his mother,--
puffy; angry; bewildered... Many nights,
now, when he stares there, he gets angry:--
something unfulfilled there, something dead
to what he once thought he surely could be--
Now, just the glamour of habits...
                                                   Once, instead,
he thought insight would remake him, he'd reach
--what? The thrill, the exhilaration
unravelling disaster, that seemed to teach
necessary knowledge... became just jargon.

Sick of being decent, he craves another
crash. What reaches him except disaster?

Added: 23 Aug 2001 | Last Read: 20 Jun 2018 3:13 AM | Viewed: 6451 times

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URL: http://plagiarist.com/poetry/42/ | Viewed on 20 June 2018.
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