Its
purpose though, to instruct, the figure
on
the chart, causes me discomfort –
standing
still, the pencil
sketch
of a man, his skin peeled
then
folded, for me to see
what
lies beneath –bundles
of
plump, pinked muscles, each, labeled –
a
careful list of names. At first, I feel, a sense
of
awe at the body’s strict complexity; each
ligament’s
pull, each tendon’s clench,
marvelous
– such perfect rules of joints.
What
appears next, though, is regret –as I
imagine
myself, the odd beneficiary,
of
mercy killings, figure studies, scores
of
practiced death.
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