Let The Sideshow Begin (Hurry Hurry)

He travels
alongside a caravan
assortment, allsorts, strange
changelings, en masse,
with his
brushes, inks and steel,
to render the rodeo trailer
big top,
coming to town,
ringing ‘round.


To paint bright
the banners
for solstice’s theater
of wooden horses,
of mimes’ contortions,
mummers, prance and sing,
get up-
such odd subjects
for an invisible frame,
a tableau, of sad apocalypses,
battered, floating
in time’s tidal current,
barely describable using
odes and meter.

Grisly spectacles
haloed in neon
and deep frying fat,
beneath the smoky cloud
diamant of fireworks-
his inner chorus bursts forth,
to march in band step
even after the stripes and bunting
fold up .


Three, the images awaken,
center stage,
as bottle rockets ignite
their tails in the haze,
around the funhouse
of his shining mind.

Then, from the coastal marshes
his only muse
reveals her scarlet, foamy presence,
instantly skeptical of his drawings,
which he opens to her-
‘Oh,the scenes are messy,
the sketchbooks are dusty,
were some soaked in gum spirits
just for the easy cleanup,
the scrawling of ‘scapes spawned
in warm studio spaces
above bakeries tempting you
with biscuits all day long?
And you gave in?
Why would you think
these rough publications should
ascend to Nature’s golden gallery
above our mealy, peeling
boarded up lintels?’


To her critique he drily replied:
‘The, works, describe,
in ribald detail,
antics never imagined, folly
falling like shells upon
spiked battle helmets of rationale-
the pigments, loud and raucous,
like the sucking sounds of
memories rising above fire,
among the beach dunes, where
a roller coaster wind sprays
granules off into the soft mud.’


‘Elise’,

he adds,

‘I’ve seen your smile
times more majestic
than extends over
all the clowns-
what chill has frozen
its dancing lines?’


‘Sorry,’ she answered,
‘I meant to advise
constructively, but
my countenance did seem
merely profane, shallower
than the still water puddles
behind the carnival stands.’


He leans closer to her-
‘Milady,
just because we argue
doesn’t mean I want
nothing to do with you.’

She- ‘Let’s see if you feel that way
when we ride
upon the tower wheel
spinning the commoners above
the lighted panoramic view.’

Someone
presses ‘start’-
below the screams enjoy,
as blades rush by
in green and yellow, and
bumping blues and browns raise
the burnt smell of sparks-
they watch a fight ensuing
among the crowd,
putting into full bloom splashes of red,
while at the arcade,
the squeeze art boxes make
splattering spills appear orderly.

In her blue tears,
she resolves to soothe
their discord with song,
sensing in his eyes a hurt-
in the rest of him,
a limping susceptibility
to airsickness
and bright blindness,
to soft gills heaving
for gasps of breath
with each scrambling, teacup whirlaway-
at ride’s end
she unveils a siren sound,
forcing him
to tumble down, and sending
rugged groups toward more defensive positions.

He gets up to brush the fairground
straw from his black tousled hair-
‘Well then, let’s get some cotton candy.’
‘Okay,’ she says, ‘later we’ll have some fun.’

On the midway, gleefully,
she will spray him
with the water pistols
with the funny faces.

After she enters
the haunting
hall of mirrors,
he will wait outside,
holding on
with a crumbling admission-
wait,
forever, if necessary,
for the paint to dry.

Copyright 2008 Celosongs Ltd.