The artist balances
on a razor's edge
his stance is a thing
of beauty (when he
maintains it)
but
when he falls
the horror of his end
sends shock waves
through
every life-action
and
transforms the terms
of his existence
into a paradox
of
profound ugliness.
This is me as I saw myself thirty-five years ago. I still maintain my balance on the razor's edge, but it gets more difficult every day.
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