The actor can seem touched by grace
When lies illuminate his face

When logic or arithmetic
Can't tell the passion from the trick

When act and being seem in fusion
Is the glamorous illusion

Between the actor and his craft
There blows a small but chilly draught

Between the costume and the bum
There is no continuum

Between the make-up and the skin
Discontinuity creeps in

Between the gesture and the arm
An emptiness that's filled by charm

The spark is there but wires are crossed
A self was there but now it's lost

George Simmers

If you've any comments about this poem, George Simmers would be pleased to hear from you.