Him (on Michael Raedecker's Hitler portraits by Clayton Lear
Surely even children know The fine grey form of That eye, frazzled now Stitched out sparingly, another eye- only This one stares. The jumble of the face is Sharpened into form with the dip and Dive of thread through canvas. Your Stitched in nose and mouth, your ears And eyes, the compressed rigidity Of your moustache, tell nothing The weaves have been pressed with acrylics To add shade, to soften and sharpen and Harden the features Surely even children know. For surely even children know The yarn being spun before them, crafted And cast across the canvas like a scream Stretched across an empty room. Surely even children know To make disorder of the awoken eye, And steal it with the eyes of cigarettes, Or wipe out the mouth, or bloody up The nose-surely they know to rub You out and with fingers fluster Your hair, for with fingers the disorder Will set them free.