toy store ouija board

a marionette asks me how old i am 
& i reply seventeen minutes. 
all our fingers are trapped 
in finger cages. the pinwheels
can't handle these gails & 
our bubble wands are bent from blowing.
everyone assumes a toy is a frivolous thing.
no object is more alive. two minutes ago
i was swallowing clouds & trying
to be a teddy bear. or, in other words,
trying to be a man's shelf sleeper. 
i wanted to wait patiently for touch.
a toy is a cite of miniaturing 
or make-realing. i believe in wooden tops
& doll house murders. the toy shop 
teems with unfulfilled 'maybes'.
we take out the ouija board
first to contact our grandfathers 
& then to ask the other side 
how to stop being so bloody. 
hands hovering so close to touching.
bumping each other's knuckles. 
nothing is just a toy because especially
a ouija board. the windows shake.
the adults melt like wax statues.
here we are so close to a truth.
yes or no. spell the future for me 
my plastic dream slate
we sit & wait for ball-joints
& synthetic hair or at least a wooden heart.
all i really want is to be 
grasped in one hand like an implement.
play with me soon. 

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