How lonely on the sidelines of a sideshow when the big top comes tumbling down in a jumper with a name tag Hello, my pronouns! Settling 900,000 with a new suit of concrete beneath a drowning flood of three million, a poisonous flux washing through the blood of a keyhole shaped like a mockingbird coiled about by a rattlesnake, beak like a bayonet piercing the womb of a blind hag, stumbling over a line drawn in barren soil, center stage in a sideshow, the audience gasps in profile, in shadow, in a whisper as the curtain falls, let's take a bow, together, one last time.
February 1, 2024
