my sister had a nursery rhyme

set of figurines

she'd often let me play with them, i'd

set 'em up in different scenes

fifty plastic army men, led by superman

destroyed the ranks of mother goose

mary and her little



lamb slips away and catches

sister getting real

and i can too, as long as i don't

make a sound



when we were real and we were in love

with everyone and everything, i guess it

was the beauty of

bluebird clears his throat of phlegm

and static singing operatic



evening comes, and the butterflies are



bats eat the spider that had saddled up

beside her

and the dish, his lovin' spoon were

never found

and i'm taking flight seeking relief, the

lure of handkerchief so white

i chase it straight into the ground