To: Bill

Disconnected Nude


He frames her perfectly. Making sure she’s
nude,
demure,
but never trapped.
With skin melting
into the border,
and a beam of light
for an arm,
she gazes towards the bottom,
a direction.

Beyond these borders
are similar existences,
making her struggle barely comparable.
Her body is whole here
because she is in control of the
placement of her pieces.

Inside,
her exposure isn’t shocking, merely a separation
of body parts, disconnected, but still creating
a larger figure.
She appears to be holding her head, subject to Picasso
and a chilling grace.
Using dark and light to push her apart,
corner to corner.

She is thinking things we will never hear
thoughts held by a never-ending hand,
grappling with lips, half erased by her own shadow
coming to grips with a face, existing in only two dimensions.
Breast to elbow to wrist to hairline, invisible,
her connections flow with the ease of light
creating a sense of extreme contrast,
maybe between her expression, position, thought.
Singular.