They say the house ached
with an energy
his chord *****
haunting the A/C hum
colours crawl out
of failed cartoons
in schizotypal terror
dismembered icy blues
that take in everything
through bloodied stems
the retired boxer
******* the umbilical
with his head carved open
to dementia and night terrors
They say the desk-lamp shook
from pill-induced tremors
the anxiety of perfection
never borne out in creation
eternal battles between
pleasure and Satan
between the chorus line
and bouts of sanity
two self-portraits
twin the whitewashed wall
one frail and brilliant
with gaunt fears of hell
the other fat and docile
in the face of death.
On Daniel Johnston
C
