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"The Actor"

He stands crooning:
Alone on an empty stage;
The spotlight softly caressing the lines of his face-
Darkening the shadows around
His eyes,
His fine cheekbones,
And the crevice of his mouth.
Magic flows from that mouth:
The essence of hopes and dreams
And love and hate
Which attracts lost souls
Thirsting for serenity-
Quenching and instilling hunger,
Feeding and instilling longing:
An endless cycle of fulfillment
and lust
That never satiates.
With guitar calloused fingers
He makes love to the world
And it, wistfully,
Trembles at his feet-
Pleading for more.


The outside air is harsh -
Banshees crash against my ears
And drive me into heavenly seclusion
Dark and warm;
Softly pulsating.

Don't speak to me.
I have forgotten how to answer-
My voice absorbed
By the spongy walla
Of my womb.
Shall I be forever doomed-

Fingers probe into
My darkness,
Gently nudge me towards
The light.
I roll over
And curl tightly around my knees.

Falling on their button noses,
The primitive foetuses rebel
And evolve a small flap of skin
That envelops gently.
A flat pink mass of blotched
Delicate armour against
harsh cement floors
And obstinate snag to
society's trustworthy
It shudders slightly from
soft caresses;
Sends screeching warnings when
deliberately moved.
This stable support
For bipedal balance
Turns its ashen face to the mesosphere,
Content in its role as unifier.

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