Naked In The Color Splash Poem by jerome moore

As a Crimson glider sinks to the belly
of subterranean stairwell,
pierced through by tin can rooftops.
It scrapes the walls in a pitiful foray.

By the window,
by the Basement level studio,
by the wooden ships, cardboard airplanes, paper eyes
standing against origami corners,
standing, she holds her nose,

seamless wallpaper languishes her tiny hands,
her moist palms, her tender wrists, her boyish arms.
An eye traces her tiny golden hairs, and she knows.
smiling while her firing squad, christ-like, blink their flirty shutters,
in a ruse native to the naked city.
in a way a lost crucefix rests at her breasts.
Tiny exposures, flashbulbs and meters that run. etc.
Model who lay composed naked in the color splash,
faints from heat,
faints from lack of a soul,
faintly laughing, and completely crazy.

Model covered by searching blanket of exhaustion
oozing into cracked floorboard, smles, sighs, tracing, measureing, exhausted, pariah-like, spinning round and round and round.
'be rude to me, rude to me rude to me. show me something, anything'
getting off, where she got on.
chewing her bubble-gum in a neo beatnik calm.
blowing bubbles to the wind.