as good as a top

without a bottom

a sestina after Ethel Merman on The Muppet Show

Force of nature made law to stay on top.
Laws of nature take all to the bottom.
This play makes tightropes work as a game
made for different angles and sized parts—
each piece lying with layers of true love—
which is always personal and private.


At first, one wants to know what is private
to have better chance of staying on top
of the words shared in auditions for love
as nothing’s worse than being left behind
to handle making heads or tails of parts
that took an awful wrong turn with one’s game.


It’s important to think smart hunting game.
How to make a skilled killing is private
affair on what’ll become of the best parts.
One can get loud and go over the top
or even scrape up the barrel’s bottom
seeking acclaim and attention (loving),


because the highest ones are mad in love.
Playbills list only gold medals for games.
This is why loners will yell, bottom’s up!
then open up, and tell thoughts most private,
or lose one’s temper and then blow one’s top,
exposing one’s insides, all torn apart.


Arbitrating locks of one’s special parts
is the show that makes up face of blind love,
but is it best to always be on top
in constant worry of losing the game?
All come from stories, secret and private,
where no one else understands rock bottom.


Save just one stage to go from the bottom.
How could one forget the medley of parts?
There's no high place too privileged or private,
or else every level would hold no love
inside, working for the magical game
that makes one think one should end up on top.

Looking up above at the top, it feels better to hold onto privacy
playing the puppet’s part, shadow climbing and falling for spot-lit games
that take agency, because from down below comes the sounds of love,
& one can discover many highs from the view of openings with a lobotomy.

one individual biography

(((after ripples)))

and
then it
happens, it happens
that you apprehend that
it happened that you happen
to apprehend how it happened to
you, reason architect, who shields state of you,
thing, father, liar, mother, country, sister, rival, brother,
which you, artist of things, swore to god those designs would never
embody god, but baby, body of work, worlds of you, some thing, some body
one stone’s throw away from turning word to sword defending your state,
clasping to art, some piece of work, you, ashamed, start to run
to hide, but on the way to space, you stop inside a church,
though you swore there’s no god, because no god
would create pieces of art to war other art
forms, somebody’s something, you
cry inside shrine nonstop time
for peace from thoughts
that are not you,
for every thing
to stop
and

Nic Teixeira (@muppoet) is a gay, culture-lovin, antique geek. He stays in El Barrio, NYC, teaches during the day, bartends at night, and blogs about his hunt for rainbow connections at muppoems.com 

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