Leathern faces, masks of death pirouette and comprise the Ball of Fools and of the Grotesque. Spin, grey lizards, pay homage to your king, him who beauty only in his own broken mirror finds; Lidless caricatures, with your sunken orbs, celebrate! in your mockery, your parody of life... dance and, in sweet, silver mistlight, genuflect to the shadows you perform.
© 1989 Tracy McCulloch
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