GOAT IN THE FACTORY

He at first believed the man
was a distant relative: blonde
almost white hair, big teeth,
dumb, vacant eyes.

I’ve discovered the pulse of
the sixties, Warhol tells Goat.

Goat enters his private studio,
picks up a six-string, bites it.
I eat guitars till I bleed, he says.

Of course, says Andy, nothing’s permanent.