The Ventriloquist

I troop past beer-and-sandle
stars, hoping to escalade
towards the black tupelo tree-
that wraps me up in home
'til all loneliness is just
an owl coddling nighttide
songs for the moon.

Yet I still am lost under
the night, no matter how
many branches
secure my waistline,
I feel like these arms
will invocate
self-immolating amulets
upon my nape.

Is the sky wooden or are
the lakes mirroring false
thespians?

Because there is a kind of
dead silence fondling me...

I dare to glance around
the toying darkness;
malachite irises smile
five feet away
and I feel like I am
among the presence of
a king, who will not leave me
without testing my soul.

Is it in my mind that
eyes have a face like
some probing growth of a
forest?

Contorted by a voice
that is hushed, my bones
cave in before me,
and suicide induces
every anxiety.

I try to escape from
shadows, be moved by
wind shivering beneath me-
but he is a villain
thirsting to entertain me...
and he counts how many
times I've jumped when
I see him reappear,

an ornamented manikin,
painted with my breaths,
smiles I used to wear
so easily.

He leaves me with nothing
but splinters for a heartbeat,
clutching drunkenly at
stars that were once Indiana
summers,
but are now his personal
alchemy

that will undress me
immortally.

*Written August 6, 2012 for M&M club challenge.