Robert Creeley



Robert Indiana

That double P is eyes still look out at me.
One day years ago in Aix, young son in my arms,

.....[the other in hand, as we walked by the table,
.....[his followed me.
Only years later I realized who'd looked so intently.

His head was like a rock, a bald ball
of complex concentration. Did he ever fall,
fail, feel stupid? Was it all

success? No. He painted pictures
of a dislocatedness, lived in its fiction,
had no art apart from that distraction.


The 2River View, 2_4 (Summer 1998)