now a front man orphan for stardom frames
that drag your demons through a pardoned lens
behind sunglasses, slang and soundstripe aims
carefully adopted by stage-hand friends
or the rough canvas company of trade
who court you in bright palette affection
cast you in statue like sculptors of fate
escorts in some artistic discretion
a shape, a slingshot, a target, a band
unearthing buried talents on the bone
cameras the spitting image in hand
to capture the moment you’re first alone
perfectly evolved on spotlight stages
for a syllable birth on microphone
a hand-crafted word from empty pages
with a beautiful face we call our own

 Copyright © 2015 · Elizabeth Ganot · All Rights Reserved ·