Lurking, living on stark edges
Haunting face refusing to leave.
Hanging on my every word...
Why you stay, I cannot conceive.

Your hollow eyes bely my fears
of my hesitant inner muse.
Thy hardened skull reminding me
my deadened heart, her words refuse.

Who shall I call you? What’s your name?
You empty skull, yet electric.
Persona not identified.
Dead, of course, but still eccentric.

Bony? Peppy? Evil-doer?
Dullard? Harry? Sylvester? Who?
What shall I call this bony skull
who at my page’s bottom broods?

Listening, complaining, no peace,
All this without words to say so.
A mime without motion, glaring
Indeed, your name must be Marceau.

Copyright 2007 JO Janoski