Between the day and the jaw
positioned at that mid-day interval;
I see the suckling of power
like a lion sipping milk from a reindeer
a phantom echo that we obey
words from celluloid or paper –
Ingest our thinking with the passing of day.
As the engine ticks and rests
we watch the veneer and stage antics
on a path of breadcrumbs;
We like hungry magpies distracted
like gimmicks shops at the circus.
Sometimes we must reveal the mask of our master
so we can understand who the real puppeteer is!
Be the spine not a burning fuse
black out the ink meadows that reside inside of you,
think before you expect to except
any type of intolerance;
Be brave and ignore the phantom echo
that turns the sight and mind into a sugar coated cabaret show.