Abendlied by Robert Schumann

fulcrum

i (feel) as if

we

have once again (entered)
the

blistery patch of road
of cuteness
where

(you hang up first) (no you) (no you)

becomes our mantra, our
relationship.

all the signs
are

leading there (and)
yet

i find

no shortage of (stoplights),
of signs

that

tell me (how far) away
from

home you are, (how)
far

we have come.
i hold on

to
that idea...

Song Without Words Op. 19 #6 by Felix Mendelssohn

briar-ridge

hello
(like the color of heather/

on the bay) and
goodbye

(to martha's vineyard), i'll be
setting sail

(like growing
my own teeth) and

i cannot wait.
here.

the time comes (in) and goes
(like tide)

and

everything you are (to me)
all
comes down
(to)

just one thing:
the sun

going down (in the sky).
i

like the color
of

your face...

Lieberstraumme by Franz Liszt

mayor/town

as it rains,
i

have this fear of heights
(i keep myself

from climbing)

the stars
fall down
like trains

in the night

(and)

i point my chin at the sky.
i

have this fear of

falling...

Gymnopedies No. 1 by Erik Satie

bent

like a farmer's tan
(my eye)

only goes halfway

across.

the horizon glows and
(this orange stripe)

unbecoming /as it is/

continues.
to carry

me
through/out

the world (and)
only

pieces of me shine.
oddball shirts

/and/

(sun)shine...

Fur Elise by Beethoven

enya

chicken marsala, chocolate cake
and

streamers--this is a birthday
party

four months
(before) the birth day--

and

i like it.
i am having fun.

the fan is on,

and

my hair blows.
paper plates (disheveled) on the wind
unfurl

below the boxes
and the bags
complete

the scene, it is a celebration.
we

pull the cake
off

our faces...

The Swan by Camille Saint-Saens

algonquin

the deep jade color
of

your eyes
(i held a baby

and she
didn't cry)

the neon orange sky
like

piles

of traffic cones

(i held your head up
with

a sigh)

and

the faded blue denim rain
(it falls

steady

when
you say goodbye) and

the

lonely pink heart
i keep

just for me, the unbroken prism
deep

inside...

Queenie's Suite by Nick Cave & Warren Ellis

oregano

you are my svengali,
like

spaghetti

(i recall the way
you made me taste,

empty rhetoric

like noodles
in my mouth)

and

in between all the cans
i try to

keep my goods in

(alphabetical) order and

away
from the neon glare

of
those stage lights, the ones
from you,

the ones i crave
(and talk to

during

nights like this).
i

am

your svengali,
and i speak

through you.