(Painting: Menageot--Envy Plucking the Wings of Fame)
You, like string upon a needle fine
that through the eyelid in a stroke is sewn,
drag and goad me forward to your wont,
the torment doubled since invisible,
'till throbbing blindness comes to what's before
these feet and hands, and thoughts so spill
from out of every crevice in the mind
as you would have them--wild in carnival.
Little master, little god in thread
little demon, clever, awful thing,
you either will be yanked out in a tear
to leave my vision blood-streaked, and yet clear,
or haul me ever forward as you will--
Ah, Lord Incarnate...go ahead and pull.