Ula

I paint like Marcel Duchamp, and walk with weary gait, smell my cologne it's damp, bring cognac to my table, send dishes by measured plate, feed my tiny frame, I'm not someone you look upon, swaying like a knave, singing what I’ve done, unshaven waiters, in this pavement cafe', often watch me faint, men before me unmoved, buttered hair in trains, mutter of how I look, creating in an unlit space, art a lonely place, betrayed by certain names, carried along by absence, who dismiss my fame, look at me askance, I rise above shame.