Documentary

*The New Yorker*

Analysts
Will
Prise
Apart
His
Art
Like
A
Chest
Cavity,
Exposing
How
The
Heart,
Now
Still,
Once
Beat
A
Spill
Of
Velvet
Words,
Forged
In
The
Heady
Thrill
Of
A
Manufactured,
Novelistic
Life.
He
Kept
A
Constant
Wife,
Drank
His
Fill,
Until
With
Age,
He
Shrank
Into
A
Rage
Against
His
Hollow
Shell,
And
Blew
Himself
To
Hell.