With such hunger for modern art
I race past the Raphael
Almost miss the Caravaggio
Then stumble up to the Rembrandt
He also once was a young man
That was back in the day
Before he made his name
As the go-to man, for self-portraits
Mr Gormley also portrays himself
Cast in wondrous resins
Which make his body shape
Pinch perfect
I wait beside the fountain
Displaced in this city of statues
Where I imagine
The writer’s also laid a claim
But for today it is busts
Busts, busts, then more busts
Which after a while remind me
That I am also bust
Bust by the repetition
Bust by the Rome of it all
Bust with our own encryption
The rise came, before the fall
