Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

I used to be a classy kind of stripper—
wore no clothes, struck a pose, made a buck or two—
only did it to pay for education:
college freshman—nude for the “life sculpting” class
in Andrews Hall, across from the library—
they’d roll my dick between their palms, pat my ass
to a porcelain perfected hairlessness
and scrutinize my flesh with a carelessness
not dissimilar to how my eyes might pass
over proper porn with a temporary
awareness each image matches a soul— crass
or cultured: happenstances of location.
Say you’re a whore—no big diff’ ’tween me and you
whose artists reach for paint or clay or zipper.

Someday there will be a shrine to the poetry of Joel K.

that poem cheered me up immensely

now that is a good reflection.
I'd only add that "whore" goes beyond sexual,
same with "porn(ographic)," now that I think about it,
at least as some scholars have broken it down.

No fun having your brillance ignored, right? All for the sake of a rounded fanny... now more common to both sexes than it used to be. There you were, all of you, stripped to glory. Or do I mean "of glory"? This one made me smile for awhile.

How did I miss out on life sculpting classes? I don't remember nudes in my art classes. Just bowls of fruit. And a couple of different shaped vases.

you are ok, joel..!! gracias for the poem!

happytrails wrote: I don't remember nudes in my art classes. Just bowls of fruit.

Thanks, all, for your kindness! And dude, the nude models have no greater fear than somewhere down the line our artists might not remember us, but have conflated our bodies with bowls of fruit! Vanity of vanities, all is vanity and a chasing after the wind.

Hello Joel, good to you read u again.... really enjoyed this one. Put a smile on my face too

Oh, Joel, If I had had a nude model in my art class, I would have remembered. I was a shy 15 year old girl in 1959 the last time I took an art class, and trust me, I would have remembered a nude model,.. Especially if it was a male.

When I said a shrine to your poetry I meant something like this

Friends of William Stafford

I am a stripper now Joel. I call it my existential strip tease.

please pardon the multiple replies.

i cringed (for your vulnerability) and i smiled. very clever and well said.

Very good poem. Theme too.


Say you’re a whore—no big diff’ ’tween me and you
whose artists reach for paint or clay or zipper.
( good lines)