On the corner,

as we pass,


there is a person.

We turn,

it is a cloth dummy.

The person next to me



In my mind,

I have turned a corner

and long since walked past

a person- not dummy

who has long since

haunted my thoughts-

So long in fact,

I now need to make

A dummy,

a golem,

to protect me,

from myself.


The cloth dummy is faceless,

after the initial shock,

people pick it up,

run around with it,

abuse it,

it is only a body of cloth,

it has no face.


The dummy I have,

has a face,

made of remembrances.

I scream at it.

But since I created it,

since I fuel its thoughts,

with my own,

it has nothing original to say.

I cannot

appease myself.


They found a clay face,

in the bathroom,

in a urinal.

It’s face it a stereotype,

after people touch it,

not knowing what it is,

they quickly smear Purell

across their hands.

It is too small to fit the cloth dummy,

nobody wants it

or knows

who created it.


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