Confessions of the Human Props

Human props,

first in entertainment,

then a reality of industry itself.

Frustrated lust returns 

to create an object 

out of the narrow obscure charm

of a thick bodied

wannabe bourgauis.

My presence is a mystery,

I cannot afford my confusion

or my play by design.

Work the crowd,

teach them about Mendelian 

concepts of nuance or structure.

Paid by the hour,

I literally  give my time

and nothing else.

Present for the sake of


and hourly pay.

They are but tributaries

singular on to each day.

Published by James J Jackson

I'm a poet from California.

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