Geppetto

I saw your neck in splinters
and was sorry that I hit you.
It must be told, I’ve no control
of anything I do.

I swear, it’s him above me;
it’s him that makes me move.
And as the crowd clapped and jeered,
I knew, he moved you, too.

I dangle there in horror
at your unblinking eyes.
Painted glossy, twisted strings,
your face carved with surprise.

I don’t mean to stomp your face.
I really wish I could
pull the pins out from my knees–
scrapped, disabled wood.

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