salty sinners for your dinner theater, darling
I
am strung marionette-d
and
vetted to working the lights
and
falling in Love with reaction
to
how the silhouetted magic gets into us
and
suspends time
allows
imperfection
to
be your portal rain
the
cloud to poured articulation
of
never having to ask why again
potter
wheels chorus the forms
scratch
at our hunger every time
to
feed humanity’s deep thirst
to
drink past a soul’s bones and skin
and
electrical dimensions
the
hand bills all said
there’d
be no intermission
and
I write my words
in
the shadows of intentions
that are only paper thin in origin
as
originality never mentioned
that
it took the last train
before
the wind took over
the
daily commuted carve
of
all the declarations of me, we have
you
can see in a painted light show
and
a suspension of belief
enough
to thieve into the audience
from
the catwalks, to fish
to
steal the keys of carriage
from
the slow fire of their rusted surrender
and afflictive whispers
and
thinning burns
and their tapping the table for another card
because
we are all able to parade
through
what the infinitesimal knives
of
a thought’s deconstructed velvet
tells
us is our old ways without words
that
dead star crescendos
that
appear every time
the
finale nears us
are the objects in the mirror
are
my hands are stringing
the
audience with their exhales
from
the little pocket wishes
that
may have been born
without
a mouth in the dark
as
the curtains close
and
the house lights
come
back on
EJR
©
Great close, as always poet x
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