Puppet Stage

The masks of human evil are cheap, and plastic-
not really masks, windswept masses of
tissue- blundering blindness gets passed on,
assured senses of doom, satisfaction in
the pain of others, as though anguish were
our anointed element. Why as I climb Old
York Road the bridge is an expensive one
to surmount: thousands here hurled from pitiless
heights, as was decided each time by casual
stooges, whose own eventual, catastrophic
deaths were not faced by themselves or anyone
else, Kabuki puppet deaths, Old York Road
another puppet stage. This, midnight's full load.