fact, pt. 3

sometimes
sometimes the man
is a bat
a wooden stick striking
heads with a splat
nails driving deep
in crisscrossing slats
on slides dividing
science fictions
from facts

 

uncaring,
staring at the sudden
impacts
magnifying the size
the initial contact
studying intensely
the counter-attacks
to counter-act in kind
ten times,
densely-packed.

 

sometimes,
sometimes the man
is a vat
of acid, mind placid
basks, interacts,
plasters his face with it
makes from it
his mask
molds mirth
from the hurt
to birth jokes
for the laughs.

 

-m.p. 12/05/2016

This poem is about: 
Me
Our world

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