there is one who babbles
with a blade in his hand,
mouth in motion and reflexively swings
heedless, reviling self and all
be damned ’til curtain call
falls upon the bloodied stage,
all the world.
and he exits with a furrowed brow,
practicing still his pirouette, riposte and repartee,
unaffected and impervious,
clumsy feet like hooves.
lacerating now naught but air outside,
falling over himself upon
the ‘ol railroad of the slow moving train;
wherein you will find all manner of fools
who found themselves on a Damascene road.
its whistle ne’re will he hear,
babbling and swinging from ear to ear.
and the light of the train
seems to him a spotlight of the stage,
and he prepares for his day
when God himself will applaud
his brilliant repartee.
Unless otherwise cited, all material is original and the property of the author.
© 2012 J.D. Isaac