Monday, January 14, 2008

The Actress

each seven-thirty evening i
return unto existence,
rather like a phoenix.
endowed with identity;
masked, costumed, plumed
to lift me out of dull
obscurity.
behind the curtain i am
fetal, as though
with its rise i shall pass
from dark canals
into bloody, sobbing
life,
and each disposable day
endured
for what these
two hours bring--
between my pregnant mother
curtain's womb,
and before its falling felt
is lowered
like a mossy earthbound
coffin.

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