Opera of the Orchestra

Diamond floors stutter disinfectant seats for this audience.
Introducing the tusking viewpoint of the sinister host.
The opera of the orchestra never missed the epitome of rehearsal.
My paper-like audience justifies and magnifies the glass in my eye.

Posing them before they could bear to applaud.
Freezing their faces onto their feelings till they rust beyond their control.
Praising them to taste their wishful tongues as the bees crawl out of them.
But dark green roses bury the victim-phobic stage.

Arclight of cigarette smoke raise their 1960's hats as they collect the dead audience silently.
Limbless finger catatonic traits can emblem art into music today.
The musician's strings and straits can crawl to the ears as the blood flows from the hands that cannot stop performing.

Nobody is there but the mind cannot let my eyes see what cannot be.
No pre-performance to be made the reality will be staying forever.
Too short...too long...cannot reach perfection because of all the misunderstanding.
Be my little bit of shadow dough in the theater of Pandora's box.