Inception [Day 4]

The catastrophe of believing encumbered
in the slight tugs of their gowns, dress shirts,
their tails and purses, and they do know

how to bow: a curtsey, a gimmick of
fancy coats, legs crossed;
intertwined?

The polite greetings of huffed up chests,
the stiff moustache; the curls flattering
the visage, the rounds of coloured faces

proceed to speak: a whiffle, a play of
loud laughs, soft sighs;
exaggerating?

The soft skin finds spaces, just barely,
in the gloved, posh fingernails, the sturdy
hands of whiskey, rum, wine, like props

beginning to animate: bones stiff, straight
backs, full bellies;
overbearing?

The silence of disquiet in hysterical
eyes, frozen feet, quivering lips, draining
cheeks, bodies swaying in the gamble-

tip toeing to dance: blood coursing through
to find breaths, rushing nerves;
hysteria?

The safe chamber of harmonies swiftly
frolicking the trance of bodies, men, women
some children, across the wooden boards

learning to rekindle: a delirium, a fire of
liberal morale, little paintings;
revolution?

The dishevelled torsos, hair torn off,
callous, bruised arms, legs, feet, bodies
of old, young and new, no longer props

becoming the flesh: tattoos that live
cluttered too close, too darkened;
liberty?

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