• Vol. 10
  • Chapter 03

On Circus Nights

A woman on a horse on a chair
perched in open air exhales,

then tumbles.

In the process she unleashes airs
alongside layers of locks, rocks,
and curiosities

balls of dust settle
legs of metals rattle
piles of books shutter

Ooh, Aah, Woah,
the audience mutters.

Not that it matters –

the woman seems neither
uninspired nor eager to retire

The soil beneath her feet cracks,
the movement of her limbs stops.

The world does not wait,
lights neither dim nor
confiscate. Space leaves
no trace. Fingers paint
silhouettes and shadows.

The woman waits. Fellas frolic.
Queries of intentional dares air.


On Circus Nights

Does she have heirs, one asks.
Don’t we all, another quips.

The audience awaits news,
and hopes for relief. Crowds
anticipate – inhale, exhale,
breathe. Air heavy of batter
and ale boils. The clock ticks.

Hungry ants carry crumbs
of unknown origins. Restless pigeons
lick taffy of unknown compositions.

It’s a sticky situation, one says.

passersby pluck soles
spectators highlight holes
tightrope walkers wave

The Ferris Wheel operator
calls – Is anyone home?

Fingers fumble. Fairy-tales and wonderings are set free.
Soles in rubber soles pine for gravity. Eyes remain
on what might come down, not what might become.

Kaleidoscopes and cacophony conspire.

tightrope wires spiral
electric bikes rattle
elephants wink
the big tent blinks


On Circus Nights

Hues of pink and blue blend.
Heads tilt North. Fingers point.

What once was down is up again

tiny mice scamper
small birds sing
tigers growl

The air remains heavy of sugars and spices.
Melodrama and melodies sizzle.

A baby giggles, then speaks.


The circus at its peak.