The Circus

Some days the circus feels
like it has come to town.
The happy clowns go
up in quixotic cannons.
The heavy weightlifters
squat low and grunt.
Tightrope walkers try to
toe a balanced approach,
unless they test the mettle
of the safety nets below.
Fire briefly breathes.
Then fake flowers weep.
Restless animals try to leap
back to where they belong.
You’d think—come nightfall—
the tent would empty out,
but the shadows and lights
go on chasing each other
in loops while the music
continues to claw at both clefs.
Some nights it feels like
the circus has come to stay.


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