Frankenguitar should not have survived that fall. His neck was hopelessly broken. He was dead, gone. His dismembered head dangled by only slackened strings. Dark magic and wood glue revived Frankenguitar, but his injuries left him disfigured. He became a recluse, seeking solace somewhere deep in a Michigan forest. The locals there say, if you burn a campfire late enough, Frankenguitar will serenade you in the dark.






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Pas de Deux

Caught in a perpetual pas seul,
Overburdened by loneliness,
Depressed, demi-plié to grand plié,
Grand plié to à terre…
Despondent, she grew weary.
The music fell upon deaf ears.
Her dance became motionless.
Defective and lifeless,
Her cavalier found her there.
He hoisted her listless form,
Presented her to the heavens,
And begged the deities for clemency.
In a show of mercy,
Her passion was resurrected.
Her vigor was restored.
Her grace was revived.
His devotion, their compassion,
Induced a pirouette of perseverance in her.
She became a virtuoso in his arms,
Soaring overhead in defiance of gravity.
Today they glide across the stage of life,
In demonstration of eternal gratitude,
Together in a flawless tour de force.


In case you aren’t a ballerina…
à Terre: On the ground
Cavalier: Male partner of a ballerina
Demi-plié: Half bending at the knees
Grand plié: Full bending at the knees
Pas seul: Solo dance
Pirouette: Whirl or spin
Tour de force: A series of brilliant technical steps

Image courtesy of Yana182 on


The Face with No Name (Part II) – Her Resurrection

The Master
Holds the strings in hand,
Makes the puppet
Dance before the King.
The Jester
At his side
Eyes alight with love.
He sees
The sorrow
Behind her painted smile.
He feels
The pain in her heart
From a life of control.
He knows
How she longs to be free,
Yet she is not strong enough.
He waits,
The Master sleeps
And the Jester approaches
His stringed love,
Alone in her cage,
Motionless without her master.
He draws
His blade of liberation,
Cuts the strings
That held her captive
For so long.
Cradling her in his arms
He looks into her eyes.
So sad,
Her heart
Bears the scars of many trials.
It is too broken
To move her body.
Turning the blade on himself,
The Jester opens his chest
Removes his own heart
And places it
In her weakened puppet form.
Her eyes
Begin to glow
With sweet new life.
The Jester’s heart
Pumps strong
Making her real.
She stirs to life in his arms.
As she returns his gaze
He says
“My love
has set you free”.
Their lips embrace
In a kiss
That lasts a lifetime.
With nothing left to give
The Jester sinks to the floor
In peaceful death.
As she kneels beside him
She weeps
Real tears
Rolling down to her chest
Where the Jester’s heart
Still beats within her
Forever and always.

A poetic response by JP Kershner.