Automaton Man

Automaton man wants to play,

weary from serving in the sea brigade.

Sentry-like, roams the rim of his lower eyelid

pupils graze the muzzle of an 18-inch Naval Gun.

Plastic rapping, whirring, he walks because of

the discipline of springs and coils

Echoes the cadence of human feet

Playing his ace of hearts, clad

in a mask forged of faulty parts.

Sweat-slick fingers ply the papier-mâché

close round the edges of a face

your flesh raw, never saw the light of day

only by eyes that trace illegitimate shapes

but there are no Bellflowers on the body of Hell.

Sixty-five eyes leer over the bannister of a vacant room

watching you

barefoot, naked, grinning at the Great Flood

water pressure shoving blood

from his cheeks to feet, reborn amidst

the Red Sea

Chrysalis unfurling, they hoped for a Lotus Blue

birthing instead a caterpillar from the carnage

of your ‘welcome home’ gift that kept on

killing us, and insatiable wonder of

what Was Wrong all the while

she grew inside a barren body

no holding or humming to you, I need my hands free to feed

our house fire

all the flames I nurtured by the nursery door

But your bones refused to burn

Is it too late to be a better maker and

pluck you from G-d as if I’d won the Golden Prize?

Could I come surging from the ocean,

silhouette staunch in the cell door frame

my iron grip on your tethered wrists

Nine years at circus without a break

Nine years of betrayal, fraud, shame

the moment pulses over me, in its wake

forever free