shots of light

mesmerizing the surface of the pool


his LA exile

looking like bad photography


surfaces bisected

by light and shade and colour

a flat pack world


not as you might imagine

unlimited blue water

reflecting the vast sky


a static take

on that vibrant splash


his real interest

the intersection of that boy

with this water

the way the white bottom bobs




the barbarians are still needed

a century on

Xenophobia justifying itself


his quest began

looking into the eyes of old men

and ended with the splendidly oiled body

of that remembered youth

a journey without end

as if that were the meaning

Alexandria a way point

to exile   Ithaka an ideal


loss and longing


(his Fourteen Poems illustrated with

line drawings by Hockney)

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