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Museum as Muse: Master and Torso

MASTER AND TORSO

I turn to look, I look.

Note the angle of the shoulders.

William Burroughs killed his wife while playing William Tell.

But she agreed to stand with the apple on her head; there must be a reason. Not a good one, but a reason. The hidden words: will tell or will not tell.

A game, he said. She did not have to turn to look. She looked, and never looked again.

Sebastian too agreed. Will he tell us why he lives on, and how. He is pierced but gazes on. Or his rapture is so great it overpowers the arrow. He is elegantly struck, only once.

She too was struck only once.

I say she turns. Look how glib she is, and how the air around her moves as she does. She is marble and impervious. She is precise. Headless: her head is missing.

Sebastian also turns; he turns toward god. She also turned toward god when she was struck.

Note the angled hips, the shoulders. The crook of the necks: his an arrow pointing down, hers an arrow pointing up. Figurations of the arrow. Again repeated in her sex. Not so much in his.

Note that their bellies gently swell. And sweetly. Their skins are smooth. His is warm, yellow; hers is cool and white.

He has one arrow, piercing him. She has one breast.

He has two eyes.

He has the apple of his eye, he has his cheek.

She has her breast, cool apple.

When she was an Amazon, she cast cool arrows-

These are the passions and the games. These are the games; will they tell us what the passions are.

--Sarah Arvio