Beetlebung and Kettlehole--April Poems

On Stage

You let your voice rise
flaring wildly, museless
no vision or destination
except for convex mirrors of a past
tilted, cracked, shattering
into smaller and smaller
sharp edges.

Bleeding, you say half the lines
in bits and pieces
words land with thuds
faces fall, and you
whip around on challenged toes,
leaving your shadow on stage
like a hard-bitten bandit.

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Prompt: an actor in small parts