Correspondence with A Face in A Painting

She's a full moon, big face, watermelon woman
of avocado green complexion, alligator neath the skin.
Her nostrils are flared in permanent defiance.
Her mouth is the size of mail box, and runs red
as if she ate something that was slightly delayed.
It's what happens when you lose your concentration.

Watermelon woman wears on her head a copper-lined drain pipe,
which I reckon, qualifies her a cop. If you doubt, read the inscription
on her badge, "Taste me, I am ready!" Believe me, Mapovia is of a mind
to scrap this painting and start another. "Don't you dare," she warns.
"I'm the beginning what you could be, were you not such a drag
on let's have an orgy!"

"Wake up, you flat breasted, excuse for a hippie.
Do as I order, dip lustily your pork bristles into the minerals.
Let's go it together from here to the Bowery.
It won't be pretty and it won't be a painting by the numbers,
for I am you face in the nitty gritty, I am you face in the swamp.
So, roll down the canvas, Big Honey, and bring out the ladder.

I'm feeling for a mural."