Wicked Circus (139)

Your mouth is a wicked circus,

Spewing clown love hidden behind pale visage,

Shouting humorous maybes with gospel certainty,

Inane tears dancing to whips cracking behind empty eyes

 

 

Eyes swirling like tricky spotlights,

Revealing only what I was meant to see,

Miming over-dramatized mannerisms to peak feigned interests

That feed your beastly show; flat applause droned from seas of wagging heads.

 

 

Trapeze lies swinging and defying a suitable death,

High wire morality balanced with cold precision,

Every image: a well told lie,

Every cheer: the echo of a well told lie

 

 

Juggle awkward fire so I can “ooo,”

Dangle over jagged failure so I can “aaaah.”

Secretly praying for the end so I can rest in peace

Until the next ridiculous show begins.

 

 

Between popcorn distractions and overdone one-liners,

I’ve lost focus on why I’m here.

Perhaps I should walk that mud path back to nowhere,

And allow your humbug to remain

 

 

Unquestioned

Unfettered

Unreal

Author's Note

:O

Reviews

[Viper9]

Damn.

I think this may be your most unsettling poem yet. This one's going in the library for sure. There's so much history in your exasperated lines. Whether autobiographical, allegorical, or fictional, you've captured universal experiences here.

Brilliant. Especially . . .

"Every image: a well told lie, / Every cheer: the echo of a well told lie".

[Robert Francis Callaci]

I don't think I''ll be running away to the circus anytime soon. One of shakespeare's lines popped into my head while reading this-"All the worlds a stage and all the men and women merely players" he forgot to act tricksters, clowns, and snakes. For some- it's just about the show- A wicked little poem...


my warmest
bob