His corset resembles a pair of tighty-whities
pulled too high. His belt is undone, his fly
is down. His white dress shirt has been
peeled back, revealing nearly his whole chest,
leaning toward the left.
His chest is only slightly covered by his right
hand. The scars run in all directions,
undercutting his right nipple, bisecting
along his diaphragm, slanting across
his intestines. His eyes peer out,
toward somewhere beyond the ceiling,
from shadows falling over his eye sockets.
It’s 1969, and somehow, he’s still alive.
Photo by David Montgomery/Getty Images
With the Kitchen Sink 