Puppets Poking Puppets

Into place. All strings held
firmly, fairly, by a hand
with no thumb and no face.
I kneel. I fall to bits,
and let anyone who cares to
sweep me up, warp my jigsaw.
As long as you say so.
Dance me into murder, give me
a sign that a toe, licked
and socketed, is divine.
Tell me in code to throw
bread into a fountain,
my son off a building,
my keys from a train.
I'm yours
and I'll sniff out your other lost sheep,
however, whenever the whimsy takes you.
Scar my wife
and I'll drink at your lip.
Electro-prod a polka from me.
Painfully, but willingly,
it's yours.
As gifts, my teeth, my fingers
that can choke or feed
or stroke into explosion.
Make me your retard,
your mountaineer,
your monster. Take me.