" I want to draw portraits of you, black on white
Not in charcoal,but pressed ashes
Volcanic dust picked in handfuls
Between jacks-in-the-pulpit
From the Northwest mountains
Within a lacustrine mind and a cold which you never endured
Knowing deceit like shade fails in the freeze
Now two tiny monkeys leap onto a sheet of green paper
Leaving their paw prints in cold ink
Thick as the smooth brown skin of your thighs of your lies
When I do your portrait
I`ll have you
Posing always too far in the distance to know where you stand "
Jim Carroll