These eyes of dolls seem leaden stones
not canisters of the Faith
but cannon-balls engraved
in tome-like stares so much
waxen shapes, these dust cloths
& spidery webs.
Dolls with eyes stare
lidless & forlorn
such eyes are cracks
minden shapes or basement eves
hogans of the human form.
I'm interested in the priapic
silence of such dolls - their
indolent aura in time
one long amber twilight
& the results are in
the shadows have produced twins
...hazy silhouettes rough-housing
in the dark, come passing headlights
although the stampede of noises
affects nought.
Ticker-tape & collage
in quick thick barrage
these lonesome dolls
slouching half-pinned
in their stalls -
a cat transcends crouching his spine
then pelvic thrusts and tableaux change.
People are divisive, dolls less so.
the dolls know nothing of that.