A roar of white noise,
the color of breaking glass
in blue billows of Cirque du Soleil,
where the Tourists flamenco into
paradoxical silence
that cannot be resolved
with a word,
but perpetuates itself in the
indescribable advance
of Time,
like a Magician unlocking the door
that has never been built,
until the Human Soul
enters on carouselambras of coincidence,
and the ocean
marries the Edge of the Space/time continuum.
*
In the trapeze where the Orchids smile into thundering
paralysis,
the lightning of their imagination
lost in vertigo of God,
the Circus becomes something it is not.
*
When the Ringmaster pirouettes underneath the Arc de Triomphe,
Semolina Pilchard
arrives, carrying a Teacup boiling with Chameleon's tears.
*
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