This Game of Faces
this game of faces
played out pages fast,
fret filled thoughts, dark places
stuffed full brilliant cast,
dream parts falling
barked out loud,
haunting muse keeps calling
hid by gauzy shrouds,
but if "a little wise the best fools be"
can verse be looked upon so proudly,
or should we, as Mr. Bradbury agrees,
just be "stung with a theramin, loudly"?
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