Doll face

Bright Eyes's eyes cannot leak,
his ribbon lips cannot curve to the floor;
he has nothing to say (what good is a
mouth that cannot twitch?), yet clutched
to his cotton spinal column is a
string wire that - when tugged - induces
the routine purging of optimism:
"I'm happy, I'm happy, I'm happy,"
he caws, every syllable withering one
letter after the other:
after the rope is pulled like child's play,
runts that dig their fingers into firecrackers
exploding on fine wire, fit for executions.