JOOP BERSEE

  

5 Poems for Andy Warhol

Andy Warhol

I see this silver line from your eyes in mine

On top of the world
with a fix
others

and you would run around the corner
to the mother of Warhola

And your gay eyes closed
behind a lens

you're on camera, darling
wow, wow, wow

Got anything to show me?
I'll stick it on film
darling

*

Wild wild bird
of neon
strangers
at his feet

and the New Yorker
writes

about sex,
it's in the air

you know.

*

Machines
are coming out of your wig

yes
we love you too

very much
But what does it mean?
What does it all mean?

he cried
like the Californian sun,

but he was in New York

*

The factory is a curtain of sorts
a very professional
sheet of metal

face of the camera
eye of freedom
and a squeezed throat

and a baby rose from between
her knees

like a pretty, wild flower

*

There is a silence
and it comes
out of his fingers

the gravel
on the path
to graves

weeds eating the cemetery
Warhol is in love
flowing up the hill

sitting
on his chain
(pale face of the night)

restless
as the drawings
in his drawers.

Jed!
Colacello!

Isn't sunlight something wonderful, Truman?