First Poem in London (a la Corso)

My skin is oily, my eyes are blue.
My hair bunched like a teddy-bear’s.
I can see wrinkles, but they are not ugly.
They are manly.

Lines on my boyish cheek, chin unshaven.
The angel face is getting weather-worn.
But there’s more and more light in those eyes.
More resolve.

An always increasing
Sacred stubbornness.