Play dead


We act heroes and thieves;
we thrive, on stage and back-,
between curtains. We hold
knives, machetes. Tadam.

Your soul, I can read it,
reproduce it. I can copy your mind.
Marshmallow, marshmallow – a wall.
Mellow mellow, then harsh; raggèd.
In this scare I wallow.

O we
are no sissies.
We men.


I play no strings attached;
I was thrown in, coerced into freedom.
I own not love, objects of love;
I get a taste,
a sip – I get the trailers
of peut-êtres.

Soliloquies of bullied bones –
break break break – hear
the cracks.

I sillily sulk.

Sordid silence.

God strings spread from my every nerve.

This entry was posted in Poetry.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s