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BREAKING: African American Church In South Carolina, Previously Burned Down By The KKK, Is On Fire
Sunday, February 17, 2013
PICASSO AND ME
On the wall hang my three breasts,
blue arms, blue flowers, some green
weeps from my two noses. In the studio,
I 'm cold, my flesh crawls along
the floor and penetrates the canvas.
He touches all my parts and parts
of me are painted in a geometric scheme.
My gilt, bronzed head aches;
it must have been the wine we drank
last night. (Those five cubed women had
a little too much, too.) He promised
more than paintings and wire constructions,
and I believed his art for art's sake.
Now I stand corrected before his canvas
while he reaches for some red and makes
me fight a dog. I no longer care
how he uses me. I'm just a working girl
trying to keep her job.