the chance that musical chairs
is worth winning,
the way we live in the kitchen.
if my name were St. James the Less,
I'd throw a tomahawk
at your bedroom door
then leave forever.
don't miss the pitch.
however, my name is not Bobby or Betty, either.
pineapples are hard to grow.
peacock on your back.
this rainy city is calling your name
in my airplane dreams.
your songs are philosophers.
my withered nerves
pull down my old eyes.
I shiver and hold them closed.
this is not that place.
I'll do your dishes.
I'll draw you a castle.
and never burn it down.
however, we will use the musical chairs in the chimney.