Dolls Dolls Dolls

Tom Whalen

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The doll who severed her relationship with the child once the child
became a mother.

The doll who severed her own head and left it to drown in the rain.

Dolls falling from roofs only to get up, climb the stairs back to the
roof, leap off again.

Once there was a doll so old she no longer knew her mother, no longer
knew her name.

Doll torn apart by child's dog.

Doll prayed over, shat upon, set aflame.

Dolls dolls dolls.

Some nights I break into the store of dolls, wander the aisles and stare
at the dolls asleep in their little coffins, but never steal anything.