Am I being used?
Do you actually care..
I feel so unimportant.
Am I simply a *** toy,
An object.
Do you love me?
Want me for more then my body?
Will I ever know?

Of simple plastic
made with screws and with transfers.
The fads of old youth
banished high upon the shelf
now a plaything for the dust.

In his greedy hands,
I’m just a doll,
Not a person.
With a beating heart.
With an imagination.
No, I’m just a piece of space,
I don’t have thoughts,
I don’t have feelings.
I’m just some toy,
Who would not care.
In his greedy hands,
I’m only an object,
An object not worth much.

Bright and polite
kids. Deferential
squirrels. Leaders of
leaders. Each man
his own man
living with his mate.
The great and the small,
all, the state.
                       On the other hand,
you find yourself
no hawk
but stuck
in traffic. Lack of
spirit, spiritual identity,
not free or free
philosophically about
no freedom. Caught
no sign
of letting go.

One. Bo-Peep's
sure Woody
is her man, an answer
to the question why
be a toy? Buzz too
would do.
Two. The men at least
have missions
leading other toys
through risky situations
sprinkler weather
or just play,
cleaning schedule.

So it goes
not homosexual
not hetero.
Not defined
by circumstance
or genetic material.
Gone beyond
the creator
to an infinity
that contains
him and us and our
collective minds.
Question is
can it exist
without us?
Would it matter?
Yes, if
that **** squirrel
gets run over.

As if bound
and chained
to a rock
in the middle
of a vast, hot
desert,
I wait;
Praying for
a salvation
which might
come eventually...
*...Maybe.

As I sink into the abyss
Left by your absence
I think of you
The way you loved me
And the way you stopped so abruptly
Like a ship
Hitting the bottom of the ocean
Its final resting place
So is this mine
Alone and cold
Trapped in a dark corner
Like a forgotten child’s toy