Mimicry
"You're crying," She said
"I'm not crying! Men don't cry, don't weep, and we definitely don't sob! We have emotional breek downs. Bouts of madness and insanity."
"Oh, babe." She said, "You are. You're just crying.
I think that made me cry all the more.

The teeth are wounde up and begin their chatter; another mechanical mandible noise. White static framed in plastic red gums. The movement begun, everyone listens. "Is this the voice?", They wonder. Is this the speech. The crowd lifts a hand to their face. Places fingers in cheeks; begins to wind. The clocks are set according to the time, and the crowd begins to chatter.
It's a vast collective of mimicry. A noise of shaking mouths and teeth; it's an orchestration. A round of meaningless applause.
A million eyes look forward, while half a million smiles grow and gnaw at the sublime. Vibrating an echo. A clap of enamel. A joke store ensemble of some turn-key choir.
Winding down, until another cheep voice appears. Mass production of another following.
And, where are we? I raise my hand. I turn the spring in my face. I turn my head for a moment toward you, and our jaws begin to vibrate.
I'm so close to you; lost, in mimicry with the crowd.