self-portrait as a poppet

get the wax. get the rope.
i'll be your effigy
& tell the fire all your secrets. 
you doll-walk with me
into the secret basement.
who do you need?
i can stand in for a wound
as large as a crater. divers 
in the belly water. i can be
the knife that walks on four legs.
i can be the dancer without air.
i know what you need 
is a place to cut the guitar open
& find the foot. i know you are
just hoping that maybe 
one body can be another.
sometimes i will find a spider dead
in her own web. you hold me 
& tremble. the night without 
any swing sets. just the mirrors
marching all through the house.
i used to think i could save both
of us. be empty enough 
to let the fury gallop through me
& onward into some other crockpot house.
instead, you have me now.  you talk to me
like i am a bowl of mother-eyes.
my wax flesh. the heat. 
a tongue on a trapeze wire. 
i am not unsympathetic & maybe
that is a fault. i just know what it feels like
to have a rupture that demands to be fed. 
i can be that for you today
but in the night when i am gone
& the mirrors have grown wings,
you will have to see your mouth.