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Have you ever mistaken your lover for a gun?  Have you ever pictured your own eye as the bullseye?  Have you felt yourself pulled deeper into deep water by luxury fingers?  Have you straightened your tie on a parapet while arabesque nudes moved into flanking position?  Have you prowled the inside of a mirror?  Have you sweated out poison and bullion?  Have you forced your way into a thicket of trigger wires, then hesitated?  Has violence been your fantasy of safety?  Have you kissed someone, only to find you killed them?

Singin’ in the Rain

I’m afraid I’ve lost the verse.  Where’s my unlooked-for beloved, my counterpart in counterpoint?  Did I miss a note?  How many months have I been stranded on this bridge, doing a dead man’s tap dance on the railing?  The sky has no answers––it’s soundstage azure, just the same as ever.  The twittering birds are on an infinite loop.  So my own body must be the cue, if I can read it.  My diaphragm collapses, then expands; my color turns; my bloodstream choreographs its intermingling molecules.  But what’s the final measure?  Everything goes da capo.  Cakewalk→ Legdrag→ Pratfall→ Sickbed→ Logroll→ Crashcart→ Jazzhands!