She flicked her hair and looked me in the eye.
“So, what can you do?” she teased.
I gathered up my tricks.
I figured this one would be hard to please.
“Well, I can take a thing that’s beautiful and pure
and turn it into something base and vile.
I can show it off to you in all its fine and ugly detail
and show it up to be a mere aggregate of cheap normalities,
a random and subjective shell.”
“Not bad”, she said. “But show me more.”
I hesitated for a second.
“Well, I can do a thing or two with words and pictures. Here:
I take the lessons and philosophies of our ancient masters
and turn them inside out, into an introspective exhibition
of my own perversions. And I will dance upon the denigrated remnants
like some horrific clown.”
“You’re pretty good”, she flashed a smile,
“We might have something going on.”
Enthused, I carried on.
“Hey, I can stand and stare Death in the face,
unflinching, as it crawls out of tired and defeated eyes,
and I will look unmoving and unmoved by pain or empathy
as it shows me prisons of such subtle form and gilded intricacy
that they escape by hiding back inside.”
Her tongue played with her lower lip.
A small crowd had gathered. Now I was on fire.
“That was nothing. Look: I can make God disappear.
Just like that, a bit of sleight of hand and one considered jab,
his many forms impaled on inches of my invective logic.
And lo! his followers are nothing more than puffed-up bearded women
and we can laugh and stab our fingers at their blindness time again
long after there is nothing left to find.”
Now she was squirming with excitement.
“I’ve never felt like this before.”
So sweet, this Devil’s whore.