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fumes of fancy

By B.I. Kukla
another day another character pales away
and the dice keep rolling
coffee keeps pouring
smiles turn into wrinkled masks
masks tell wrinkled stories
you are but voiceless memory
a featured extra hired for one scene
you were to say one lie and fade into history
there was no need for all the costumes
betting on fake cards
paying with fake chips and tokens
between ashes and ashes there is only bad taste
in neverending arrogance of clashes
the full suit of disgrace
formidably unchaste
going blank just in case
one breath short of any sobering thought, like
a pond is a mirror
for the sky
what fish?

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