27 September 2009

The Pull (II)

whisper   a breath   into this tired, broken frame, this
puppet discarded.   i have this   gift of strings, tangled
in plastic   fingers. a sterile   smile   greets the world,
hollow imaginary   lungs keep the chest   still, the face still--
still   the eyes.   the mouth   lies.
let me dance. let me pretend   through you,   one   jolt   at a time. whisper a
command, promise   to follow through.
tell me,   who lies to   whom?

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