I look at the caterpillars and millipedes
Industrious and graceful, in perfect synchrony
Like a ballet with 100 people and all
The little ballerinas are flawless in execution.
And fate, who like a circus master
Has so many whips, and you’re whipped at home
In the office, driving in the car and life
Is a cracked mirror and every one of the broken faces
Stare at you, at your many pieces, that are
Clear as glass yet as opaque as doubt
It seems the caterpillars and the millipedes
Have perfect synchrony in them and fate doesn’t
Otherwise life would be perfect. Wild animals making
Jumps through hoops, trapeze artists dancing in the air
And clowns doing handstands. Still my circus
Is not like that, it’s far from perfection and the whip
Marks have become tattoos with time, inescapable
Marks of endurance. So I try like an elephant
Riding a monocycle, cycle the only toy I call my own.
A woman, my wife, who takes me from the cruel circus
From the cages of my minds. Taking me to a perfect wilderness
A flawless place only we know. To graze some desire grass.
To bathe in lusted water holes. To make love.