thought by sheer will  secret self
rid your contamination of color
inviting me into your personal space
your confessional booth your painting hang
dreams dominate the corner of New York
avenue where Clare Booth Luce fell from your
easel then life takes away all roads lead
back private demons monkeys
on  my back now the big braid bridges your
head to me Diego ate your ashes
your urn shakes on the mantle