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Jonathon Egan

i took dissection once.


considering the scalpel in each hand,

i reverently approached the veil

of the temple of God

and gently pressed.

the skin

parted as skin does, layer

upon layer reflected – and

though i never appreciated

the soul,

bone saw in hand i confess

i found the seat of knowledge

a marvel even unblinking.

the maximal atlas of the man,

not pressed in six charts, authalic,

but splayed in all his glory.

Holy. Holy. Holy.