Someone else in my voice--
it's frightening
worse than a bone caught
or a choke
 

I feel my pulse slowing
& repeatedly speeding.
 

Who's in the wings?
 

Is what I say His echo,
or does He simply--even when softly--
speak through me
as if I were His dummy
His screen, scrim, sieve--
megaphone, finally
blasting His message
that Tony is a walker, a skipper
& a jumper--toss him in water
he'll swim--knock him down--
he'll take a nap
 

Whoever is out there presses me daily.
 

No matter the pressure, I'm talking!
While the Grand Old Master
fumbles for a stick, anything-----
to write His own story.
 

Lest I use His name in vain.