Poem #30: Self-Portrait

He is of a dark complexion with hair that indicates laziness or perhaps avoidance.
There is the makings of a shaped body dominated by a large belly;
he loves food but also loves the idea of discipline.
He has the kind of frame that you hate to see go but you love to watch leave.
Secretly thrilled by his color, his hair, his teeth, his feet,
loves the idea of these as slipped seemings for his inherent nature.
Tries to be subtle about said nature, but fails at it; it's all around him
if you really look. He alternates between pride, sloth and whimsy
which means he'll never be as consistent as he likes
but he'll keep trying; it's his own stone, and he'll roll it up the hill
any damned way he pleases.
Worries that his eyes are too dark, longs to steal the spark he sees in others,
imagines himself as Pollack slashing colors on huge canvasses --
transmitting a wordless reality that will never be understood
because it can't be explained.
Then he realizes what pretentiousness that is and tries anyway.
Embarrassed, he knows other people will always say it better
and that he'll just be a finger pointing at the finger who points at the moon.
Sometimes, he accepts that.
Others...
He loves and is loved.
He is preoccupied with endings because he can never get to them.
And there are a million things he will never get to do.
He sees himself as small when he is not.
He sees himself as poor though he is not.
Once he realizes his potential, he will live up to his responsibility.