Etching (Warning! Adult Content)

[David Nelson Bradsher]

Etching

The etching stared out, black and grey and dirty,
a portrait of the artist as insane,
his shirtless torso sagging, thick for thirty,
the flesh a canvas of regret and pain.

He held his pen aloft, an ink conductor
prepared to swath his tool in southpaw scrawl.
He wrote of her, his love, and how he fucked her
like some deflated whore or blow-up doll.

His sickness was his cure: a need to write
no matter the allusion, muse, or theme;
addiction sucked him like a parasite
and locked him in a drug-descendant dream.

He died a junkie, slumped against the sink,
riddled with needle-marks that bled red ink.

[mfwilkie]

Strong lines and images, D.
And ) like the way it reads. A lot!

One thought to get the softness of 'fleshy' out of there, which I think weakens that line:

a fleshy canvas of regret and pain.

the flesh, a canvas of regret and pain.

[David Nelson Bradsher]

Thanks, Mags. I should have explained better. This was based on the etching done for my poem "A Shadow Speaks", so I was just reversing that and writing something specifically for that.

The shirtless writer was a bit frumpy, so I actually wanted to use an image to imply his shape. Your suggestion would lose that. Any other suggestion on how to keep my intent intact while still losing the softness.

Thanks again, babe with cape.

[David Nelson Bradsher]

Changed my mind, Maggie. I covered his paunch in the previous line and like your suggestion. Thank ye kindly.