RareForm
Bluelight Crew
I.
Swinging clean,
a pendulum slices through the clownish air
breathed in the silence of a circus tent.
The crystal (old and dirty) tries to glint
in the bestowed spotlight:
the open circle at the tent’s summit.
Light chokes down from this opening
and sires an aureole upon a skeleton’s crown.
The crystal’s taut cord is entwined in the dusty fingers
of the dead palm reader, entertainment’s Magdalene.
Under the rows, the moat of wooden benches,
if one walks with one’s nose to the ground
one might discover
a lost sublime dime,
or a runaway fickle nickel,
or maybe a solemn quarter,
or a whole penny,
or just a dollar.
It depends on one’s expectations.
Don’t expect to find the dollar.
Let me reverse the kismet.
Let me rewind the cracks in the masonry.
Let me slather flesh back onto the chiromancer.
And let me show you
the heat, fall, chill, and prophesized resurrection
of the warm, electric extravaganza
this tent of dust once was.
II.
Once the emaciated gossamer corona
was poured in lusty torrents to the breasts of dulcet
identical entities with one pair of feet.
Raising the title of freak
into the proud hot lights upon a colored platter,
they grinned matching smiles through bee-stung lips
and released duet melodies of ensorcelled caterwauling
that wrung dry the emotions the audience
was desperate to hide.
One by one, like apples falling,
the assembly had tossed their hearts to the chiming, silvery girls.
III.
Iron snarls met iron bars.
As the metal bleached Bengal stripes,
the lustre of orange against dark
sunk away through the endless hoop canters.
A whip intended frisson yet only succeeded in a whorl of agitation.
Behind those large cat eyes
reflected were the effects, the poison, the possession
that the cavalcade of rhinestones and torches and song notes
and jugglers and fangs had.
Tiger blood (with silver teeth).
Lock him up (don’t let him eat).
Cunning secret eyes turned away from the lights.
IV.
The flashes of grins and winks
skitter around in a multihued eddy,
pulling shadows from the slivers of electric light.
The audience cooed and gasped
and screamed as this
pinioned parliament of monsters
spun out naive melodies amidst
the bangs and whimpers.
The static of this circus
has drizzled dry.
Wooden eviction notices posed as tombstones
declare the financial strains
caused by one-too-many apathetic children.
Swinging clean,
a pendulum slices through the clownish air
breathed in the silence of a circus tent.
The crystal (old and dirty) tries to glint
in the bestowed spotlight:
the open circle at the tent’s summit.
Light chokes down from this opening
and sires an aureole upon a skeleton’s crown.
The crystal’s taut cord is entwined in the dusty fingers
of the dead palm reader, entertainment’s Magdalene.
Under the rows, the moat of wooden benches,
if one walks with one’s nose to the ground
one might discover
a lost sublime dime,
or a runaway fickle nickel,
or maybe a solemn quarter,
or a whole penny,
or just a dollar.
It depends on one’s expectations.
Don’t expect to find the dollar.
Let me reverse the kismet.
Let me rewind the cracks in the masonry.
Let me slather flesh back onto the chiromancer.
And let me show you
the heat, fall, chill, and prophesized resurrection
of the warm, electric extravaganza
this tent of dust once was.
II.
Once the emaciated gossamer corona
was poured in lusty torrents to the breasts of dulcet
identical entities with one pair of feet.
Raising the title of freak
into the proud hot lights upon a colored platter,
they grinned matching smiles through bee-stung lips
and released duet melodies of ensorcelled caterwauling
that wrung dry the emotions the audience
was desperate to hide.
One by one, like apples falling,
the assembly had tossed their hearts to the chiming, silvery girls.
III.
Iron snarls met iron bars.
As the metal bleached Bengal stripes,
the lustre of orange against dark
sunk away through the endless hoop canters.
A whip intended frisson yet only succeeded in a whorl of agitation.
Behind those large cat eyes
reflected were the effects, the poison, the possession
that the cavalcade of rhinestones and torches and song notes
and jugglers and fangs had.
Tiger blood (with silver teeth).
Lock him up (don’t let him eat).
Cunning secret eyes turned away from the lights.
IV.
The flashes of grins and winks
skitter around in a multihued eddy,
pulling shadows from the slivers of electric light.
The audience cooed and gasped
and screamed as this
pinioned parliament of monsters
spun out naive melodies amidst
the bangs and whimpers.
The static of this circus
has drizzled dry.
Wooden eviction notices posed as tombstones
declare the financial strains
caused by one-too-many apathetic children.
