Fallin’ Trapeze  

I give you this wealth, welt and weal—ever found to be lost,

laughing and crying in private. Years turn double digits—

digging and delving into frights and ghosts. How is such

pain of more worth than mine; where hurt is distributed from

man to soul? I ask—nearly abrupt, pausing anger, as not to

flame a teenage swan. But days have become torment, even

tanks and tares; where joy interrupts to harness anguish. I’m

lost to see, why death and disease pardons itself and

condemns both truth and slight. Thus, one favors itself, to

ever scar another, but said person, forgives no man. How has

humanity fallen: where magenta is no longer royal; and

violet strikes tears? I would die slowly—to birth eyes of pain—

ever at a distance from myself. And such ivory eyes, and

golden skin, ever to mold a thought; where allegro wit, dances

both nib and ink, flying into composition. So what is this life,

void of roots, disguised in khaki, and blindfolded to death? Its 

cartoon, where Mickey Mouse is king, Bugs the grand emperor,

and worth is determined purely through emotion. I cry and

cringe and crave, aloof a monkey mind, plucking a jasper rose;

and every petal a prayer, and every prayer a garden, depicting

her face.