Olimpio Fusco Unconscious of his Needs
…
An artist’s model does what he is told.
Stand there. Sit under that. Now spread that thigh.
He doesn’t have to know why he must fold
His hips beside a knife or gun. His eye
Must look away, to left, or up. Perhaps
He has to pick a candle up and lean
His forehead towards the flame. His clothes collapse
Against the master’s floor. Chest lies between
The pillow and the covers. Raise that arm
And put it crooked here. I need to view
Exactly what I want. I will not harm
Perfection. Hold that forearm up, askew,
Aimed at your head, as if you want to dream
Of total love, enough to make you scream.