M. Shepard - Thursday

The stage is set to rip the wings from a butterfly

The stage is set

Don’t forget to breathe

Between lines if the whole world dies

Then it’s safe to take the stage

These graves will stretch

Like landing on strips — hospitals: all the dead museums, we won’t have to be

afraid anymore

The crowd is growing silent with the gathering storm

When the curtain falls and you’re caught on the other side (just trying to keep

up the act)

We’ll lie in the back of black cars

With the windows rolled up

Joining the precession of emptiness

If we say these words

It will be too late to take them back

So we hold our breath and fold our hands

Like paper planes (and we’re going to crash)

We don’t have to be alone ever again

There’s a riot in the theatre

Someone’s standing the aisle, yelling that the murderers are everywhere and

they’re lining up

Carving M in your side

Pull the curtains back

Kill all the house lights

Pin the dress lotus flowers.

The silk is spinning around and around

With the ceiling fan

I’m disappearing into the spotlight

I’m on display

With the butterfly and the scare crow

With smiles like picket fences, you tie us all up and leave us outside

«That voice is silent now and the boat has sunk…»

We’re on our own but we’re not going to run