The Missing Nude Of Francis Bacon Poem by Andrew Lee

It rests idly, half-twisted,

somewhat weird and contorted

behind a canvas.

Streaks of pink, screaming

another vision.

But goes deeper.

We're always ask by Francis

to go deep.

Beyond the fibres, the shriek, the contortion,

is the tender insight into the human condition,

how we are trapped somewhere in the Milky Way

that has no North, South, East or West,

but languidly floating and slowly spinning

if we have Eyes

wide enough to take in the Cosmos.

(Dated 9 January 2018)