One is a peasant, a miniature one to be exact.
Who had seen some better days.
All worn out and silent,
I have kept it for display.

One is blind who lost both sight,
Probably stumbled its way to a thrift shop.
The previous owner could have pushed it eyes out.
Poor lad, its eyes got filled with dollop.

Lastly the one doll I am proud,
Is a musical doll I recently picked up.
You can wind it up and leave it playing,
Until the end of the sonata unless it suddenly stops.

Miss Daisy is what I call her,
Having a doll, but only a head.
She never complains and she never is lonely,
Because this doll head is never alone.
When I bought her came also Miss Darlyn,
Another head for the price of one.

...on my head --that should do us both good since YOU're not keen on aught knowing YOU love me too.


(sonnet #MMMMMMMDXXVII)


O madness of these dolls my niece'd avail
Herself of cuz they're popular and thence
What aught who'd buy her favour purchase hence,
(Where I was far too poor to dream in frail
Excuse of any such things in betrayl,
When I was just a child)! The vid'os' sense
Of, well erm, foolish joy in these--pretense,
I cannot even like the dolls to scale.
Nor did adulthood change my view as twere.
Goodwill in lieu of e'en the mall MY cue,
They all look now askance at me in tour,
My peers thus none too blind.  What did I do?
Or wherefore is't I'm on the fringe, 'til YOUR
Love is a marvel none explain, O YOU?

23Nov18a

I love porcelain dolls
How smooth the porcelain is
The creepy eyes
I love how fragile they are
How fragile they feel
How breakable they seem
Thats why i get along with them so well
Were so fragile, Our eyes give it away too
Always looking so sad or even creepy

One to many cracks we break
We just shatter
Not much we can do once we do
I guess you can try to glue us back
But
the glue
will only last so long
its a never ending cycle

We love
We hate
We crack
We break
You glue
      And  just Wait

EAT me maniacal mannequin
kiss my wishes.  i am a broken
misunderstanding that only you
can understand AND SO the sun
Falls down across the erecting
Moon --the movers fell into
gracious love with the shakers
  so lick me maniacal mannequin
  and hold me until my skin turns
  porcelain-blue like your heart.

:: 10-05-----2018 ::

Strings, strings, wrapping around porcelain skin,
For why does the bruises not show?
With a waist, hip, and two legs that are so thin,
For why does the skin always glow?
Hair that never sheds, nor grows, nor messes,
For why does the girl not wash it?
With a merry face that still never truly expresses,
For why does the face not show even a slight fit?
Stoic, conjoined, the feet never stomping,
For why does the limbs never feel frostbit?
Perhaps it is a lie that the being is a girl,
As it is only with strings that she can ever twirl.

I feel like a bride
In the valley of white dolls,
As I lay dying.