by Fernando Arrabal
… With a macadam deity and streetwalker cowpoke. [1]
With my frail chrysalis boasting Mandarin spurs. [2]
With a jubilant Spanish opening that changed the game. [3]
With my man-eating amity dexterous with electroshock. [4]
With my fjord-like coolness and leonine jaws. [5]
With my pawn, pedestal, and Castilian flag. [6]
With the torrent and ivoryless tower of my grip. [7]
With a vengeful cat meowing on my borderline. [8]
With the truth and translucency of our lilies and sheaves. [9]
With the apple of science and the deathless snake. [10]
With the King guillotined by the peons of my soul. [11]
With the Fury and Gorgon of the psyche and psalm. [12]
With the seven long leagues of my birthright and idiom. [13]
With the rocky mountains of my Renaissance risk-taking. [14]
With the gift of the Magi and phantasmagoric horses. [15]
With the conflagration of gambling and my skin, red and gold. [16]
With the monarch trimmed and my seagull in flight. [17]
[1] Steinitz. [2] Hou Yifan. [3] Ruy López. [4] Fischer. [5] Magnus Carlsen. [6] Morphy. [7] Tal. [8] Alekhine. [9] Robert Hübner and Hölderlin. [10] Almira Skripchenko. [11] Philidor. [12] Lasker. [13] Capablanca. [14] Gata Kamsky. [15] Spassky. [16] Alexei Shirov. [17] Judit Polgar.
