Thursday, October 22, 2009


I'll be reading this at urban juke joint next week friday.

Be cautious to touch
All because rough surfaces can hurt fingertips
Splinters are caught lingering in skin
Where a pen excretes ink, withering on paper
A stage for where a ventriloquist is at risk of exhibiting stitched lips
How can I express silence without speaking
Practice abandonment and begin tweaking the fine points
Carved from parts without my joints having the capability to bend
I sense a trend in this rigor mortis fortune
Let us pretend to portend that I'll morph in to a corpse
Lend life to an inanimate shell
Awaiting my next show, stowed on a cabinet shelf
I'd rather my tale become fiction in book
However, the measure of thread has given to hooks that induce movement; a dance
A chance to prance
A glance by spectactors to romance a stance
Advance? I can't
I'm trapped; attached to that which has the hands
A manipulator and dictator
By strands, I'm stranded
I've landed on a floorboard for more of the audience's entertainment
Claiming encore, as I bow
Now hollow
Stained with the saliva of termites that bite
I'm not with lacquer or vigor
Worst life to picture, lacking an image of happiness
Tacked with pins
Not having skin has it's advantages, as with this situation
Regretting to serve
Words involuntarily carried would be getting on nerves of mine
Turpentine to reverse a shine I stated was negated, prior to being berated
For the paint chipping away
Visible frays
Supine, I'm locked in a pine box until the day I'm given away or thrown out
Go 'round, merrily
Terribly displayed to all who would watch; a hop and skip to a spin
Into a song and dance, I begin
With a grin whittled, chisel a dimple to my chin
When will it end
I can never cry
Only sawdust will flush from my eye
Digits didactic in tapping to how I'm guided
Provided the lining isn't unwinding, you'll find that I'm tapdancing
Being handled in a manner as "insensitive as sensations my imaginary nervous system isn't resistant to
Is this making sense?
A tempest so tense in timber, it's limber to limbs that are nonexistent"
I no longer feel the flailing
Persistent to witness this ongoing dramatization
Regaling, I'm distances away with a sway and a jig
With a flip of a switch, I am blinking
Leaning into a parade by a twig
I am him
Parlay from a fig
I am numb from the way of a whim
Standing ovation
Jiminy Cricket
Splitting me in the thicket of wishing he didn't
Geppetto, excessively extrinsic
Pinesol along my eyeballs, lemony finish
Never letting me finish
Extending leaves, ostensibly different
Extensively livid
Incredibly rigid
Will I ever be living is the question emitted
Legibly dimming, impendingly pitting me against a mirror
Apprehensively fitting of a reflection
Depiction... deceptive
Recollection of every chapter from hereafter
I'm pensive
I can't sit, unless placed in a corner
Leaning over, slumped at the shoulder
Lady with turquoise hair; blue fairy
Work your wand and share
Her choice to turn me into a real boy
I care to be realized
I'm here
Stumped at how I'm rooted and growing
Knowingly showing foliage
Shooting and hoping
A writer and poet

G. Arthur ©2009
Sent on the Now Network� from my Sprint® BlackBerry

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