poetry

the night puppet

he frowns

drowns in sleep

his head fed by a string

it drapes the weather over him

 

he lies and watches

the moon

a confident polished shoe,

stares up

watches only what he can hold

 

the stage flames lick up like a carpet

(enough said)

the world begins

and under it the music

his thin arms and boy head

 

the first shuffle

then a clear thimble silence

echoes

 

touches

him

 

tells him

to come back to bed

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