A poem by Tennessee Williams

Art by Francis Bacon

Art by Francis Bacon

You and I

 

Who are you?

A surface warm to my fingers,

a solid form, an occupant of space,

a makeshift kind of enjoyment,

a pitiless being who runs away like water,

something left unfinished, out of inferior matter,

 

Something God thought of.

Nothing, sometimes everything,

something I cannot believe in,

a foolish argument, you, yourself, not I,

an enemy of mine. My lover.

 

Who am I?

A wounded man, badly bandaged,

a monster among angels or angel among monsters,

a box of questions shaken up and scattered on the floor.

 

A foot on the stairs, a voice on a wire,

a busy collection of thumbs that imitate fingers,

an enemy of yours. Your lover.

 

Tennessee Williams

Taken from the book, ¨Androgyne, Mon Amour¨

 

 

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