They flare up like two burning torches.
At once the body that of a contortionist,
My neck craned back, arms tottering, legs wobbling.
an exorcist.
Unsure whether a crow had cawed, or a cat had screeched.
I'm a dummy in need of a ventriloquist to bring me to my senses.
Skeletal-like branches rap against my window,
Tack, tack, tack, tack, at once I became
A juggler lacking grip of her phone,
A clown whose hair is as scruffy and prickly as an old-man cactus,
A tightrope walker trying to stay in balance with the frigid hardwood floor,
And lastly a magician hauling back the curtains and using a plastic wand
To adjust the dusty, papery horizontal blinds, woosh, hoosh, shh.
Loud wailing rumbled between the lifeless buildings,
Along with the crackle of something heavy opening nearby.
Like a ring master unlatching a steel gate to unleash a wooly beast.
Soon a glint of scarlet was bouncing off every shuttered window like a drifting balloon.
And an angry steam engine could be heard churning along the dark-paved road,
Fire tamers donning bulky helmets were scurrying across the street.
These strongmen climbed one by one into a bright mechanical creature,
Like ringling brothers smooshing one another in a clown car.
All we're missing are some trapeze artists
To hang and fly off my neighborhood's telephone wires
To finish off this two-a.m. circus.
Guess the lurching pigeons will just have to count.
YOU ARE READING
Whisperings Beneath It's Surface
PoetryAccounts of hauntingly genuine poems based upon my memories, dreams, nightmares, and imagination. Nothing is trivial in this world. For everything blossoms meaning. All it takes is to observe something, and it may whisper to you below its surface.
