ST. SEBASTIAN

It's the eyes
that meet
like arrows unknown
which cannot reach
or paint
the madness
of your olive face
perhaps only
the moon or sun
may circle you
when nights
have gone crazy
and you try to hum
the Sixties notes
left outside
the Factory
the night Andy
was shot
for nothing
but a manifesto,
sober secrets
will find you out
now in the snow
St. Sebastian,
darts in front of you,
even in your pockets
of self reflection
you cannot escape
your own marks
and remarks
of rapture.