Nursery Rhyme Malfunction

seated in a corner, just like old times          
grown-up thumbs of the same little Jack Horner          
opened a window          
          
for a dip in a pickle          
of odd rituals          
          
with plums and apple          
pie on their altar      
          
trying to rub fire          
          
inside throbbing flesh,          
like the cave-man used to do with      
two wild twigs watching          
their feeble knees pine for sparks of static electricity;          
but tonight        
I  give up          
and          
          
Observe      
           
     
     
the ambush of          
     your          
auburn shades          
          
strangling the oxygen off  Orphaned flames          
                      and tilting        
an asymmetry beneath a rib cage.