The danger of turning to flesh
is that with the absence of strings
responsibility must be embraced.
It as easy as revenge
to let the carved joints clacker,
the jaw bone and wooden teeth clatter
and to stumble about this stage
under the guise of some greater will.
In deep sea moments when regret
stares back as a landed angelfish
I hate the double helix wand;
prefer to believe the old man’s hands
shaped me in his image.
I want to feel the tug of strings
pulled by forces with which
I do not have to reconcile.