Skeins of cotton candy drift
around rope beams of the winter big top
the wind bent burlap creaks and shifts
above the silent cages and the big cat crop.
A fragment of the barker's call
that filled this place with heat
echoes by the padlocked stall
where restless tigers growl in sleep.
In the twilight of a rouge ringed world
where the light rides bareback dreams
trapeze shadows flit and whirl
from flying strand to narrow beam.
Falling boys beget laughing men
who hatch the quickest schemes
confounding the here from there til when
what is is not what seems
on a rocket ride from the five and dime
to some bizarre bazaar
where lions flirt with tigresses
and elephants shave from jars.
A start awake to the shuttered face
by the orange tiger's paw
a high wired stalk to the lyre and bell
above the hot popcorn hued straw
where a tawdry taste of three ringed thrall
casts a spidery rainbow gleam --
a pin -- a blade -- a turn -- a ball --
the circus of some boy's dream.
When the hours melt to vanilla rain
and the wrinkles cast a ton
it's time to dissect the circus brain
for a pungent pachydermic pun
cause this is no circus animals' desertion
no rag and bone shop heart
this is the road to real berserk fun
with the sweet faced red lipped tart
who weaves a thread of innocence
through the juggler's sharpest knives
brings kings to dusty tents
lives a thousand lives.