Egon Schiele 1890-1918

Self portrait with Hands on Ches, Schiel, 1910

[Self-portrait with hands on chest, 1910]

Egon Schiele 1890-1918

It was the impression of having before me a personality that was extraordinary in every respect, a personality of such pronounced singularity that its mere presence might not  please everyone, often, indeed, not even himself–Arthur Roessler, Art Critic, 1910

Roessler! Roessler! Come up!

Wally, I need time. Get dressed.

Yes more then. Take these.

Be back.

Roessler.

Yes, I read it

Others must see it, not just you.

Your hand is so cold. I know.

I don’t want to eat.

It doesn’t feed me.

Look. Here.

This is going.

I haven’t been here before. The mirror.

I turn, look over my shoulder,

wrench my head.

Volcanic rock, Roessler

I carve and rack that body

to chips of blade.

I begin to get there

and go faster. I gouge a jewel through my nostril,

a stick through the cartilage of my ear

I watch them redden, hear my bones,

scream to get out, incising my skin

and so the paper.

Roessler, do you see the line, the track?

Sit here. Please.

No, here.

Your head.

Look here

The mirror.

Front and granite

back at one

Serrate you fingers.

Spike your lips.

Roessler, the tie tight

at your throat. The pin.

Crenellations, your jacket.

You wrestle back,

close you eyes and flatten

god against me.

Taut slight slackens

to a molten sea

seeking an inlet.

Roessler

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