Handshake of Yet Another Face

I murmured soft curses and closed
the eyes of the doll with my fingers.

Badly it sneered

complete with solemn answers,

mourning next to the desk

rolling, rapping,

saying yes to all discourse,
giving weight to the tons one by one,

starry magnitude of residue.

Someone’s car has its radio blaring,

attracting an element reluctant to sustain.

I wonder how they remake them

how they save them

naked in flowers, immaculate

the folly of the foot soldier and the slave’s reputation. They’ve come undone, alone by degrees,

perceiving the nondescript towering of daydreams. Imaginary bones of these dolls we seek here tonight, unleashing a genie we cannot contain.

Before I got there,

the panes were easily broken

by the other joys

in casual stutters and perpetual grace.


but I know these puzzles in the dust

charms in the pocket

are taken quite seriously.

Baring their brains to the heavens

these dreams become real

bombing out in colors

of purple and blue. Sirens, more slavery, downtown stretches

sleet overpowers them and in big waves.


Michael Igoe: Chicago native longtime Boston resident, social activist, member of the Democratic National Committee. Counselor to ex offenders and emotionally disturbed adolescents. Lived in Seattle NYC and elsewhere.Writing since 15, published in numerous magazines and journals.

TJ Edson is the Art Director of Oddball Magazine.