another poem

The circus lights are off and on, fast-paced
as if to induce nausea or an epileptic seizure
They come in, multiple times a day, and as
I sit there, watching them flash off and on
Back and forth, they go and go around in their electric cycle
I am so sick of watching them. They do not know
that they induce headaches, that they never end,
That they never stop, never provide the sweet relief of darkness
Never does the bulb burst in a display of it becoming too hot
Alas, it controls its own temperature just too well
Not well enough to burst and shock and burn and cause fire
Just well enough to slowly scorch my exposed, bare, arched back

The show horses have grown large, and mutated, beyond
What they ever should have been, what they ever could be
And stay, remain, healthy and living their lives in this style
Nobody speaks, for what do you say as a rabid horse in chains is restrained
but dying? You cannot speak ill of it, it may froth at its mouth
As much as it wants. You may watch, out of a morbid curiosity,
Or not. You cannot speak ill of it, for what is there to say

Snake scales shine like a metallic black harlequin diamond pattern
They slither up my streets and watch from the alleyways
Iridescent in sunlight, at first they may look beautiful as if to shine with color
It is an illusion. These snakes will hiss and avoid the rabid show horse
They lick at their scaly mouths and attach venom to the people
Panic, at the circus, ensues. We are after all not equipped to deal with snakes
At the circus. They say,

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