Popcorn & Ticket StubsWhen the circus left town
,it took all of my ex-lovers with it. I was relieved. I had been lining them up like exhibits and torturing myself with their entertainment. A few bloomed more colorful and delicate as they grew away from touch. Their personalities became banners, staked to the ground by rope, whipping with gusts of storms. Others morphed into scaly haunts of teeth and horns. Eyes look outward. This training of pointing reconstructs bodies as rifles. Fingernails and rusted thought beasts reach farthest. Other apparitions hide within the wreckage – smeared names and ghost charms. I have never known the magic of parlor talk and blurring lights to keep an audience. I pay my fee. I enjoy the show through the closing hour. I leave. It rolled out on a Sunday, a sandy outline shrinking from my morning toast. It took admissions and earnings from games I enjoyed losing. ... This poem was originally publshed in the online poetry journal, Danse Macabre. It also appears in The Mattress Parlor, Colin's first full-length collection of poetry. In 2013, it was anthologized in Stonewall ~ A DM Anthology(Hammer and Anvil Books). |
|
|