Poem: Fantoccini

 

Fantoccini

 

are they flesh

or a mask of plastic guile?

does a mainspring spindle into a blurb

which only seems a heartbeat?  

 

when you observe them

in the circus of fluorescence--

that moebius jingle-cascade

disgorged by the cacophony of the screen--

 

it seems, maybe, the eyes bob a little too astray.

it seems, maybe, the schticks sink too low,

as if a prop raft had slipped off a fake bollard

to suffer devil fins.

 

it is later,

 

past the glamour of the cogs,

in the desert of the strobe,

wandering in frantic hypnosis,

where one can catch the lie.

 

it is later,

 

in the yawn of the eye apertures,

behind caked facial features,

after ratings have absconded,

 when unanswered answers

confront the very same questions

which were once asked by

the slippery, shiny mouths seeking prophecy.

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9/18/25 ... 

Tired of all the mass shooting in this country and the lies of the Republican politicians, defending easy universal access to guns guns guns...