• --
    the Marionette
    --

    -
    -
    -
    the bow strings quiver
    the feet step lightly
    folding swirling twirling
    knitting into each other
    -
    each staccato note hangs
    eerily by the stitched ends
    of elegant hushed skirts
    held by pale jeweled hands
    -
    the sound of slippered feet
    is lost to the low humming
    of the woodwinds and the strings
    that are pulling swaying stoic
    -
    faceless slender men
    dressed like scarecrows extend
    their polite invitations to
    the faceless painted ladies
    -
    fingertips touch lightly
    gloves made lined up together
    like the hands of puppets
    dainty sure purposeful
    and smothered
    -
    in perfect harmony
    they plunge upon the beat
    and recover smile curtsy
    they show not the slightest need
    -
    after one thousand
    days of dancing
    parched throats do not utter
    the slightest complaint
    -
    nor curse nor moan nor bother
    do they to stop and rest
    their winding dancing feet
    or loose their tight bodices
    or remove their stiff cummerbunds
    -
    the crescendo retreats
    into a simmering pianissimo
    the violins violently tremolo
    settling all together now
    into a lightly paced run
    -
    they do not slip upon the blood
    that seeps from the deep etched cuts
    along and underneath
    their tightly wrapped feat
    too gracious for folly are they
    -
    held up by the intricate
    web about the air
    the delicate coiling sound of
    artificial ether voices
    that settles in the hair
    -
    beneath their not faces
    things are cracked and strange
    time clicks away between the
    internal rhythm of the
    lungs heart brain
    -
    the wires of their minds have
    all been rearranged
    the time has long since passed
    when they could remember
    -
    a time when they did not knit
    seamlessly into each other
    and bow and turn and smile
    and pivot and partners change
    or when their hearts did not screech
    with the sharp rusty twang
    -
    the speed picks up again
    flutes trill like winter storms
    horns rise in an unbroken stream
    the clarinet wails a womans voice
    in a guttural then breaking scream
    -
    the dancers dance in tandem
    lightly do their gloved hands meet
    and smiling do they sympathize
    with faces without lips or eyes
    -