La Poesia

Now, it was hard for him to tell where his forearm ended, for it seemed that he had several elbows. Sure, some were clumps of scar tissue, but he knew at least two were elbows.

He began that night. The candles were thick, hundreds and thousands of them, like a vigil, calling for its sanctimonious followers. He light all the wicks. The heat made him sweat and light wafted upwards out of the alley and radiated skyward, illuminating the downtown skyline. He assembled his chandelier or mirrors around his body and grasped his cherished scalpel. The light shone from every shard of mirror into his eyes, granting him perfect vision of his canvas. In the distance, he could hear the footsteps. Slowly a murmur enveloped him, rising up out of the alley skyward. His disciples were there, he could tell. And he loved them.

His hand was steady as he began his work. To the top of his crown, he took his scalpel and, in a circular manner, drilled his starting point, the dot of the letter i

In slow, deliberate circles he moved around his crown, encircling his brain. He continued:

Then God said "Let there be light and there was light."

The chatter and pitter patter of little footsteps echoed through the alley. Maniacal concentration, he told himself, and continued on around his neck, across his still chest, and down towards his stomach.

Thus the heavens and the earth were finished, and all their multitude.

The light was blinding, and the chorus of noise, deafening. He could not hear anything, only a feeling of awe. Then downwards he worked, writing verse after verse, A river flows out of Eden to water the garden, and from there it divides and becomes four branches, he inscribed. He felt the awe of his audience penetrating his glass shield, percolating through his veins and out into the air through his writing and then radiating skyward. He circumscribed his heel with the names of the descendants of Noah, Shem, Ham, and Japheth. His followers were breathing close now, he could feel the warmth of their breath, covering his naked body. Their strength drove his back upwards, around his ankle again, and marking his punctuated spine, back to his crown, once again. And from there, he continued. He could not halt the glorious feeling of a good cut.

"So what do you think will come of the book on that Hector the Dagger?"

"I do not know. I heard he was a fake. Maybe someday someone will sell it for me," the agent replied as the walked from the delicatessen. "Hey, we’ll take this short cut," and he motioned to his companion down the alley at fourth street.

"Look here, I dare say I’ve found a perfectly good torso."

The agent pondered the find. "Amidst all those rats. There must be hundreds."

"I believe so" the companion replied, shuffling his feet to scare the rodents.

"Let’s see if we can sell these organs," the agent excitedly suggested. "Hot demand these days, I tell you."