I'm actually sort of fascinated with my own face. Not truly in a vain sense. I don't know if I've the abilities to explain, I may put it in a poem. That'll give me more room to be self-centered. I can put all my self-centeredness in a poem, only place it works.I think about an image I saw in an art museum
of a little girl in a white dress
a dog named nietzsche on a chair.
her face the face of a mature woman.
women's faces like flowers to me
so interesting so beautiful
I was such a vain fool as a young man
summer of 1962
I think of Dorian. My face like his, but I'd not had another paint mine, therefore I thought if I hide indoors I'll not weary it much.
I don't know what will happen now.
If you were a girl, they may have hung you in Salem. I've been there, spooked me ever since. There's this crooked staircase behind the chimney, it leads to the hiding room. I know, I don't want to think of it either.
Oh and..."dang me they ought to take a rope and hang me"
We are just talking trucker. A bit greedy to run the streets nude, but screw em all. They're shooting my moon on Friday. I'll go buff if I wanna. Just keeping going barefoot.What the hell were we talking about here?
You do right.