King In a Cornfield
KING IN A CORNFIELD
When my effigy was impaled
for all to see
yours, on the other hand found a place to hide
around the outer edges of my grotesque.
And while you laugh at stories of my eccentricities
it affords you the luxury the concealment of your own cracks.
On this crazy treadmill that you build, I flesh out the fantasies, so you can sit in front row bewilderment at this at me your neon-reflected selves.
You said its necessary the blindfolds so in leg shackles
my choreography out on the gang-plank.
As long as you remain with me
on this thin film this frozen lake as long as the
cheers reverberate and I don’t have to come to my senses
to watch from a distance two projected shadows at the end of the cul-de-sac
dancing in sync
as long as I don’t have to see you
as you as you dissecting:
scornful fingers
sifting through
the distended
caricature
of
a
king
in
a
cornfield.
Copyright © Eaton Jackson | Year Posted 2015
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