The Carnival

The simple truth:
There was nothing else to do,

So they imagined themselves a night

At the circus, the zoo,

With popcorn dreams and soda-pop smiles,

And a twenty-five cent charge paid in full

To the bearded lady at the

Ticket booth.

A neon wheel encapsulates the

Universe in full,

They climb aboard the flashing cars,

Racing up and around their

Sky-borne highways

Tracing circles as they go,

Tracing circles high and

Low.

An elephant appears,

Tamed with a handful of peanuts and a

Colourful coat,

So they can ride upon its back

Or even slide down from its trunk,

So the acrobats can flip and swing

From tusk and tail and

Drooping ears—

A spectacle performed to

Great delight, and almost honest cheers.

And all the stars of night

Are made to dance around the

Juggler’s hands, like apples plucked

From autumn trees,

While thread of gold is spun

About a stick and tastes like

Cotton candy,

How it melts and never melts.

There were tigers and lions and

A salsa-dancing bear,

There were penguin-like magicians,

Performers on a

Tightrope, trapeze,

And clowns with rainbow hair,

And for one very simple reason—

There was nothing else to do:

So they imagined some people there too.

Bon Voyage

Would it be fair

To chain my thoughts upon a page,

In shackles black and bound in course

For far-off destinations,

And such vague misdirections

As they've already perceived?

Not once or twice

But a thousand times released

By foul hands and hearts of grey,

All with eyes to match these darker shades,

Where summoned once or twice

Might find some purpose, some redress

Or solace in an unlit place.

Treble

Blue jeans, soaked above an inch,

Walking to the beat of

Squeaking soles, the only sound;

The world is out of tune,

I’ve learned to tune it out.

One button left undone,

The turning of a head

Defines me—in apologies,

Half-spoken glances

Call me by a name.

These strangers, their coats,

Their home away from Home.

Pages in a book

I’ve never read, verses

In a song I’ve never sung.

Frozen wind, hide my hands,

Crunching ice beneath my shoe;

The Cold berates and stains in

Blood, strangled

By the clef around my throat.

Middles

Where do I begin? or should it start at all,

Dreaming of a dream gone by,

No thoughts except for those complacent with the past,
Asking all the questions better left unasked—

Better left unanswered.

If I reject the gifts they give,

Their gold and their perfumes,

Should they turn their backs and leave?

Borrowed lies they left behind for me to squander,

In all their haste forgotten.

There’s a movie playing on a screen,

In an empty theatre down an unlit street.

The title drew a crowd, replaced with empty seats—

No one stayed to see the end,

They wouldn’t like the credits.

Where did I begin?

No secrets kept from all the world,

Only those I call my own,

Or those I still don’t know.