My backyard is a park. in the dark we lose our feet. Slender fingers cut the sky, I think it's the trees. My back is stained green with laughter. "don't fall after my feet..." Your wrists are stained red, you say it's the trees. I can't see your shadow - see through you, but there's a light around us. Are you asking me for help? do you think my hands are bound? Balance act held fast on a white goal post. "how should we die?" How should we live? yes, I know you're dying I know we all are, all of the time. I just wanted to know if you're all right. Are you all right? "tragedy is a word, not a lifestyle". Balance slipping fast, the sky explodes around us. I'm ungratefully optimistic; I think we should live.