The boy masked his face.
Pasted it black with a stroke, stroke,
the tack of the polish,
the smack of the paintbrush,
all joy, all grim, all primal and strange.
The boy wound a wire.
Wound it around and around his neck,
found the feel pleasing,
unexpectedly thrilling,
his reflection a thing to unnerve and admire.
The boy took the stair.
Trembled to think of the party ahead,
his heart in his throat and
his throat in his head,
a dreadful step taken - all - up - in the - air -
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