Fond Memories of Outcasts and Entertainers

Smoke-clouds billow and

I’m left to remember when,

back as a boy, how

magical it would feel, standing

there, popcorn in hand, amongst

likeminded awestruck souls,

watching, without a blink

of blurred focus, as the

death defying men and

women, dressed in sequins and silk,

dance the strings, jump the

ledge, trust the swinging

friend, hanging there

on loops, way up the

tented sky—and there were

horses, lions, and people

who look similar to how I’ve

felt inside. 

There was so many more,

so many enchanting times, every

year, we’d go, as a family

to the greatest show—and

now, adulthood has slapped

me—the circus has since

left town, a while now, yet

it chose today to smoke today

it picked now, to ascend away—

and I remember how smiles

brought smiles and laughter caused

laughter—filling the gaps between

the gasps procured by fire eaters,

feats of strength and cannons—I remember

how it was then—but I also remember

how the clowns, painted as they were,

always made me feel a little bit sad

inside.   

Timetables

Every story has an ending

every ending a beginning

and the beginnings…

 well, they started someplace too

there was a before

there will be an after

there was a time…

there’ll be another

very few certainties exist

but time…

is absolute amongst them

Then-now-whenever.

a difference between meek and might

Flagging grounds

soiling earth

made one’s mark

spray-painted x

below the traffic

above the trolls

drip-dried fade

away until—

a braver soul

blackens space,

creates their own

or

a weaker soul

feels disgraced

spends an afternoon

or an hour—

replenishing their own strength

by erasing all

the lines I once drew

A Principle of Division

table salt—

sodium-chloride

locking in

another flood in wait

cupboard’s dusty—

an extension

of what we keep

for sustenance

in our jars of clay—

tamper-proof—preventing

another early wake

end. point. turn.

a new arithmetic has been observed—it crushes on the physical geometry we just have to learn—an ancillary construction’s hiding space—a distraction, a disgrace—a fake stir of optimism—for a scene based entirely upon pessimistic sets of codes—when discovery disrupts the guise we had formed, it disassembles all the equations we’ve ever known—the only beauty we’ve ever worn—deconstructing our place of home.

a nauseous  epidemic.

anxiety laden nerves. 

paranoid—and rightly so—

an underworld erected—from the trust and freedom love’s allotted us.

From the many we make few—the espionage grows and grows until it tires too—loneliness abounds, even when good hearts surround and the graphed parabolas never fail; they never fall—

self placed Landmines erupt-explode—triggered by the auxiliary education we so foolishly thought we would need to know—because of form, logic lost—a probability gambled upon, one too which the odds we thought we could beat—yet blinded by the arcs and shape—we deemed it a chance we had to take—opportunities like this are rare—amnesia of all we had simply disappears—all that was gets strained then lost— the superficial signs that led us astray—the most negative of causalities—where no one wins and the opportunity to start again—well, that die had been long since tossed—

alone again—first time since, what’s it been? Twenty-five years or so—empty house, empty home—friends grew busy, friends don’t answer their phones—all for what, all for what? Twenty-four-thirty-six-twenty-four—just numbers, random-strange—just memories—what an accomplishment—even if I chose to speak the lore—just look at me, look at me—even I wouldn’t believe a single word—strike that—I’d believe the part about the guy that’s lost it all.

end.

point.

turn-

where?