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.