Standing Female Nude

One saw I was alive. Loosened

his belt. My bowels opened in a ragged gape of fear.

Between the gap of corpses I could see a child.

The soldiers laughed. Only a matter of days separate

this from acts of torture now. They shot her in the eye.

Six hours like this for a few francs.

Belly nipple arse in the window light,

he drains the colour from me. Further to the right,

Madame. And do try to be still.

I shall be represented analytically and hung

in great museums. The bourgeoisie will coo

at such an image of a river-whore. They call it Art.

This is the word tightrope. Now imagine

a man, inching across it in the space

between our thoughts. He holds our breath.There is no word net.You want him to fall, don't you?

I guessed as much; he teeters but succeeds.

The word applause is written all over him.