<lindenberg's "seeing andy warhol"> 2003-03-30.10:20 p.m. Seeing Andy Warhol after "Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird" by Wallace Stevens Rebecca Lindenberg I. Down the blue barrel of a gun held in the lime green hand of a red-faced woman with pink hair. II. He pants over his diary, black pen whining across the glossy white page. III. He stands before the bathroom mirror, pulls at his loose skin, weeps softly alone. IV. Who sees the beauty in soapboxes will never be content. V. With worn hands he handles Mao Tse Tung: paints him blue where we saw only red, paints him pink where we saw yellow, makes him a star like Marilyn Monroe. VI. A small adoring crowd gathers around the flat glass of his gallery windows. They eat green apples. They eat green apples. VII. Long stemmed wine glasses tremble on the trays of white-clad waiters who move like ghosts through the smiling crowd. He lifts one from the raised tray, returns to the conversation. VIII. There is looking, which is not seeing. Then there is seeing which God does. IX. He sits quietly on his mother's knee while she chats with the neighbors, measures sugar out with coffeespoons. He is not thinking about the yellow walls or becoming famous. X. He doesn't want to paint things so they will last (Judy blue and orange and black flowers and things made of metal), he wants to paint them because they will last. XI. Once he was in love and carefully combed his hair. XII. A row of skyblue pills like seeds about to be sown -- He counts them, takes one, and counts them again. XIII. White-haired reflection in a bowl of still orange soup. back /& forth /& frosting names are often sad