Self Portrait. Poem and a painting.

He’s painting faces on himself, again,

the waterline slips
higher than intended.
Somewhere on the radio – possibly
everywhere at once –
a river breaks her banks.

Self portrait, self –
some fluid warps the base of my door,
but far too slowly.
Tiles are lifted, trails are split
but far too slowly for

Him, fixed in mirrors
flat-out between panes –
painting faces on faces, gazing back;
the waterline shatters light apart
as it levels with the bed.

About Benjamin Norris

Published writer of short stories, long stories, poems. Well received art critic and cultural commentator for Berlin magazines. Collaborator with operatic societies. Co-writer of fictional historic psycholinguistic journals. Lecturer of architecture and art history at a Budapest University. View all posts by Benjamin Norris

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