We drew paper pictures
of our scissored selves
watched them into
shadow movies
leaping on
a wall
We played dress-up with daddy's naked ties
music flooded speakers
without passing notes
singers and the crowds
blue lights in a box
choose your idols well
one day we all go home
This has a suspenseful feel about it. Scissored selves; is it because we are never whole, in all our fragile, flimsy days, are we just shadows of what we might have been? Your poems are many layered deep. I feel sometimes I'd need an electron telescope just to see everything hidden in there.