Master of the Painting

I had put him there
I had willed it, and it had unfolded like a napkin
weightless and thin
skin like paper, fragile in the darkness

His legs, discarded to the side like a broken bicycle
Feathered hair, given to the wind, teasing, twisting
Teeth knocked into submission, scattered
crooked piano smile against the black asphalt

Those stubby fingers, spread out like
fallen soldiers, stilled from their marching
Deep blood ran from his body
fleeing for its life, searching for a host

Who said there was no beauty in death?
Orange peel sky
Mercury moon, shining, melting
with the trickery of the eye

I was the victorious one
he was the center
yes, HE was the masterpiece of this painting
that burned itself into my existence