I was watching the
Nutcracker,
stage drinking blue
The violins
pizzicato,
pizzicato
the wood sprung floor
breathing with the knock
of ballet shoes

I was watching the
Nutcracker,
sitting in the
mezzanine,
Mezzanine
the red kiss of
cherry wood and
green,
I live in
the mezzanine

I was watching the
Nutcracker,
peering into the
pit,
a small gap in the
stage floor where
I could see your
wrist,
holding your bow,
swaying your
bow,
pushing back and forth making my
carpal tunnel
ache, oh your
bow

I was watching the
Nutcracker
and you were playing
the score
Tchaikovsky
Tchaikovsky
beneath the
stage floor

"You shouldn't go there, young child,
For there are things I'd rather you didn't find."

I agreed politely and smiled
And thought "If only you could read my mind."

From the rooftop
I see the houses sleeping in moonlight

(My chance ascent to the roof
for a space to be aloof
begets this poem)

I know this stillness is deceptive

behind the half glow neon panes
or the wooden ones shut tight from light
beyond the dumb walls of white
tears and smiles are flowing
also grunts of despair
moans of flesh upon flesh
stopping at the skin
or going far down to that misty spot
and even far past all them
two hearts holding the flame
of years buried on the bed
a child still in their head
or there but really not there
somewhere too wide to build a bridge

(Thirty minutes past nine
the toy houses in the moonlight shine
in their chambers holding life not seen)

And I atop one such house know
it's time to go down the stairs
to take up the script again
and write and act and write
for the length of night.

Part one

Pull my love with me into the earth
Where all that is heavy is laden in decay
As all thought brings the sleepless sleep
Harvesting nature with words of despair that form the great unread
A hopeless emotion that offers no function

Part two

Do we exist as a definition of existence
Is this existence the gift of life
Or Is it our place to challenge that this is the will of God
As if life is of man without God
If I am pulled underground
Then there will be no light

The ghosts of old raindrops
mock and scold.
Their scorn writ large
on these dusty roads and in these dusty throats.
To tote the barge but not lift the bail
ain't no kind of protest.
Spit in the well and
hope the master draws up that bucket-full.
Wishes.
Still, the giver of life
serpentines through this valley
like the Euphrates did
in that one book, but
it does not matter
since the scythe swings
in such wide circles
this time of year.
We can bring in sheaves until dusk
then fish for men in the morning but
our souls are still corrupted.
Our hearts are rotten like old pears.
I'm so thirsty.

O Father
What done haveth I in acordaunce
The Maiden ress between me eyes
Lyke brimstone et a pedestal
Dreams are distracted in me lyfe
In Marigold, Mahogany, Maroon
Venus Trifecta et Holy Grail
Et is et discorse ov Destiny ov myne
So I asketh of Thyne
To wash anew me acordaunce
Exceptionly et is in tyme
Tho I kno regret may form
Et is for the greatr good
Imperative deed so tru
An may I drown not
In red temptations
Fore done me fair aims
Wyth pursuits ov sound
For promises ov gold
To replnish retribution
Ov souls unheard
I am thyr messenger
From Alpha to Omega
May no fair Maiden
Put et in her pocket

My feelings run through her hair
An exquisite sensation in the daytime
Bonded by the wall of charm
We just can't get over ourselves
And that's the beauty of it all
So we carry on into the night
Looking for ways to refine
Which Sister Neptune takes care of
Glistening downtown's highs
Over the rustic romance
That shrouds Saturn's sighs

The summer sun falls behind
a horizon of fire.
The last light of day
turns the sky into an ocean,
*and I let myself drown.