Tent, Going Down

By

Stars careen across the darklike trapeze performers swinging. All the gold-cage shadows arc over panthers, crouching, springing. Ropes drift down like slants of light - Wheels roll out the nursery story - A muddied plume, a single, white clown's mask remains of Roman glory! Mountains loom in small boys' eyes, swing away to voices, calling. Night surges in and occupies space left by tent poles' sudden falling. And a kind of sideshow thunder barks one last thin spiel of wonder.

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