Ventriloquist
Wooden mouth eats word and threat.
Frozen eye stares through vaudeville glaucoma.
The master is mimicked, masked, and mocked.
Doll tuxedo stretched from neck to crotch.
Head swivels to whiplash punchlines.
If it’s all in good fun, why do I want to die?
Neck telescopes and voice screeches.
Tears spurt from stage to footlight.
Two are one, yet double of what cannot exist.
It’s nearly there, nearly a man, a malformed thought.
Hanging on the edge of another world.
A fleeting spectre in a funhouse mirror.
Curtain lowers beneath dying lights.
Gathered terrors are delivered home.
Yet tiny footsteps follow behind.
Remember crimson rictus.
Lips move, but words never come.
On cue the final joke falls flat.
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