Bleary-eyed
I swallow teeth in a whiskey glass
locking eyes, silvery in the gloom
across the table, -- every table
of every cliche'd home adorned with Him
this plastic, fluid spectre
what blocks my view of another side
a world, I imagine, identical
in every way, if only perverse in subtle defect
noticed only up close
too close

such is the abjectivity of horror
a numb spike of excitement so abruptly halted
by a prison guard in my own shape

I have often wondered how much of him is prop
how much of a puppet he may be

If all the shadow cast in that still image
hid dark, flexible truths behind his cardboard cutout form
like barnacles; psychoserpentine intradimensional 
PARASITES

I wonder how many live near me? 
How many skitter form corner to corner
just barely out of sight?