The carnival came on the first day of church

The circus shook the colors off its stone

Not a window got away unstained

So minster view grew rich with memory

And poor

With utterance

 

I went with bells attached

To dance, but never sing

Let French fried smoke smudge angles

Be my guide and my reminder

For to give a kid a chocolate by old compromise

Decide we’d hide each myth behind its rite

Insist we’d mash our darkness up in cluttered light

 

At circus you can have

Anything except an answer

You can be mesmorized

But not convinced

Be dazzled and charmed and revolted

Never bored

The quieter you sit the deeper goes the sword

It’s true in pew or carnival, of lions and your Lord

 

Colors beam

From every crook

Cacophony telling no tale

If you’d speak the languages that welding sugars shout

They’d throw you out and not allow back in

 

It’s more a course of matter than of loyalty

Know nothing and be cornered by surprise

Patchwork stories worn by every entertainer slip unrecognized

Forget the clown

Its gripping eyes

Remember every mask a trademark

Story worn

His face was real, with all disguise

 

Strangers only may enter our

Rootless land planned over spanning ritual

You don’t go to read at festival

But why let story fly beyond that grasp?

Till what was done, has passed

Every fryer stinks of incense

Each patron fool her saint

The party comes as one deep breath before its catholic fast

The mass

Stood on its head

 

Carnival will come again

More tale therein than one could spend

All night and day to sit and listen to

I stay

Juggling reflections caught in eyeballs

And my mask, ceramic-gray, today plays at a grin

Under the command of hand-moved flame

 

I’d break from circus to the church

If those two weren’t just the same