Audition

Ladies and gentlemen

I want to appear in – façade.

Excuse the pause, for I can feign mad

I have practised politeness

Like a second hand. If you say,

You want pain, then that is no issue

It is a common request

Particularly human.

Misuse

Is my speciality, the corner muse

My enemy  - for preferring the varnish

Of success

Is a better reality. From the heckle

I guess you want to see frailty

I can cry without cause

Apply caresses intently

Thick like gauze

To the strangers arm.

Larger than life personality, that's me

No need for a room. I can form

Acquaintances instantly, appropriately groomed

For impression

Succession is dependent

On a lucky charm.

There

Take these lips as a pendant

They are cool, my hands on an arm

Will adjust to the room.

Cut

These fingers as furniture

Individual tools

To capture the trailer

For the upcoming film.

As for rapture, its residual

Fetter on my front

Thick from the rehearsal

-          It’s like second nature.

The lump

In my throat

Is an optional extra, the depression

Can be in the cheek

Or the eye. They say dimples are sweeter

So I can do either

Cry like a gesture

Remember to smile. 

Circles

Every day I trace the same rough circles

Can feel the circumference

Beneath lid and lashes.

I thought you were better?

The ceremonial asking

And the question catches

Through my hair

 like fingers.

I trace the same rough circles

In soap over dishes

See my  bulbous reflection.

The connections are distant.

In the corner a witness

Checks in my face

For their own confirmation.

We are family. We are here.

I trace the same rough circles

In the old assembly

The fear, smudged and angry

Is pushed under plastic.

This is the sequence of layers

Which the camera calls ‘happy’.

I trace the same rough circles

The skulls ceremonial wrapping

Keeps my fingers firm there

Cold digits on forehead.

The noise of coarse sandpaper

Tears through my ear

I trace the same rough circles

Against my breast

Feeling, fighting

Against the reality.

A parody of woman

I feel nothing, disparity

I trace the same rough circles

Again and again.

Sometimes there a snagging

As old skin wears way

I work through the spoils of my childhood

I trace the same rough circles

In the hard cold soil

Of the field I walk around

At  the edge of dark

As the afternoon eases

Her authoritative arm.

I trace the same rough circles

Attempting a calm

My own touch over bloodless cells

Trace the same rough circles

With my head to the pillow

Wish it was the speech

Of somebody else.