the circus is in town and I’m handed a ticket through blood.
a strong man melts to nothing at the sight of his sorrow not standing there.
the siamese twins don’t share much in common besides loose cloth.
the bearded lady holds on by a thread and smiles through to the strangers.
there are wrestling midgets who don’t fit anywhere from what they’re told, but they enjoy the company and they let the sweat roll.
the clowns all run around the field playing tricks on each other and you.
and a woman in a box who is soon to be sawed in half by a magician who’s lost his touch wonders how she got here.
i hear they have elephants under the tent held together by ego and loose chains, few people in the room for now.
and a lion locked in a cage he can’t see with a hurt paw from last weeks show.
the acrobatic brothers don’t know each other, and never have and haven’t tried and never will.
the cyclops is afraid to lose himself though he dreams as clear as you or i.
and no one likes the room of mirrors, so they reflect nothing in return.
the tunnel of love is a quick ride with a cyclical queue and charges the most per ticket compared to the others despite its tendency to break down and rumored to have killed a man before.
there’s a fortuneteller wearing bifocals in between the carousel going backwards and a snake charmer who can’t find his flute.
and that snake charmer just the night before couldn’t sleep because he misses a girl who’s never there.
and that snake is in the mood for familiar sounds and spits poison when he’s agitated.
a man who can guess your weight forgets his own with each lame guess.
the $2 kissing booth describes our existence well.
and there’s a three legged dog who trails behind the whole gypsy carny from town to town because he’s still able to and doesn’t have much else to do anyway.
the circus is in town and it may only pass thru once and things pass quicker these days.
and it’s just in your backyard.
and you’re passed along a ticket while standing in line with the others.
City Reads NYC 