Plaster Ball

Face a mask,

Painted in harlequin

Gold and crimson.

Seems you have no choice but to

Swirl and swing with the best

In this hall of the ball,

Where you know no-


And none know you.

Your face, a mask.

Porcelain white,

And ruby red.

All around you are

Strangers and strangeness,

Filling your ears and eyes

With a vista of hollow and

Delighted delights.

What better paradise could there

Be but this milling throng,

Where anonymity is friend and foe,

But no one's ally?

Gowns of flashing sequins; adoration

By torchlight and reflecting eyes.

You swirl and swing with the best,

And feel untouchable, because nobody is

There to touch you,

Only Harlequins and kings, queens

And Fools; and all slaves.

A little scarred and scared now, that

Perfect face behind your mask

Of pretty porcelain.

Your eyes reflect nothing, but you are

Reflected in myriad windows to souls

That don't exist.

Your swirl is now a vortex, and the

Room twists in obliging counter-balance.

You lose your feet and fall, that mask

Finally falling, the devil-faced in a tuxedo

The last to blow a kiss as your hazy,

Azure eyes

Flicker and flutter.

The dance continues, with more

Puppeted harlequins close to take your

Place. You can see their strings; you can...

See the strings falling to their wrists, and

Ankles, and around their necks, a silken


How comfortable slavery is, when

Nobody looks enslaved

Save for in their eyes...

But; their eyes only reflected...