Uma

I paint like Marcel Duchamp, and walk with weary gait, feel my socks they're damp, bring cognac to my table, steaming dishes by measured pace, fated my broken frame, am no picture to look upon, swaying like a crane, just want my work shown, on winter's days, unshaven waiters in cafes, often see me faint, men before me are calm, with buttered hair in strains, say c'mon c'mon, is love just a game, canvas is the stuff I crave, museums wear a lonely face, will they hang my name ?