It used to stand in his atelier,
but when he died its role was redefined
-- it rests within the Belvedere today,
the tactile and the visual intertwined:
the gloomy landscapes of his own Krumau,
intense self-portraits influenced by Freud,
austere angst-ridden drawings of his frau,
and awkward nudes that prudes still want destroyed.
Psychoanalysis and fears of doom,
an empire crumbling round him as he stretched
-- these raging spirits in his clammy room
all left their imprints on the lives he sketched.
Their hands clasping his chair, they sit composed
waiting for their souls to be exposed.