The curtains open on a stage
    familiar in its revelation
        dark clouds pulled down by sticks
     the day dwindling in the distance
        like an unkempt fire tired of all the burning
in a smoke damaged sunset.

          Dead faces stare back at you/nothing
             trapped in agony but free of it
       gifting the burden to another

           to Bob.

      Bob’s life is a thick hide- matted
          Bob is an arm with digits
                 in control
                    part of a clear purpose
              attached to a body of questions
                     used as answers
           and wearing the toll like a tattered flag

                 drowning.

             Bob is wanting.
         Bob is watching
                 While you are watching Bob
Both are trying to come away with loose change from the price of admission

                              Both are broke.