Lions, and Tigers, and Bears

the unfounded fire escape (in more ways than one)
where we down caffeine like pain medication (killers) as
we reminisce vis-à-vis (the words, such a joke) my guilt complex,
and why you don't want to be the same

yes, there is merit for sitting without a raincoat when
there's nothing to fear in the heavens
(or in death, if there was something to be afraid of)
even if it would collapse in our hands like castles (in the sky)
under aimless fire

and somewhere below lies a yellow brick road
(or is that the sun in its untouchable blue plain?)
that suffocates when the clouds clear their dreary eyes;
and how difficult to say precisely where the earth is,
more arduous still to define hell
in the chaos waged beneath city lights


yet, there is always our (harmless) pain medication
(it aches going down) and the fire escape so
rickety that it could fall, fall, fall,
and we could be (in) chaos, if we're not that already

perhaps it doesn't tumble because it is an escape (to safety),
where we can mull over the cants like reckless abandon and
all that doesn't matter in the grand scheme of things
(you can't capture the song in a coffin)
or the postscript in the letter
(an eye for an eye; I can't forget it)

so that we can laugh when (if) the stairs give out
and we collide with the sordid reflection of that
yellow brick road


and so, someday, I'll tell you that you've already won half
of the battle with your heart, and you'll unthread
my restraints, on the steps of our flight hatch
(just our fire escape) at some thwart of dawns
and twilights (it's all only in chaos) and inbetweens

as the minutes are dripping through the ceiling
and the cracks in the windows
(all out of teacups; we'll have to use our hands);
dilettante and dilettante sipping tears (our pain medication)

in a duet that flows and flies off-chord,
but no matter of the yellow brick road (this is why we're here)


elicit my smiles and I'll colour your white nights
in the safety of our fire escape, where the stairs
are our pain medication (pills are for the hope-vacant)

in the perpetual freefall of liquid diamonds
mumbling along the slope of the roof
(some caprice that makes sense) and breaking
on the asphalt somewhere below (above?)

the cycle that doesn't end, like the glitter and glare of
the yellow brick road (in the sky)

A/N - Hot off the press, so it's not great...but I wanted to post it so as to get some feedback. Please review!