The circus doesn’t dance these days.
The circus hasn’t lost its way,
it’s just not the same without you.
A tired tightrope tries sleeping
while clowns close up after sweeping the ground,
afternoons pleasing the crowd.
One more end of a day, painted smiles lock up a cage.
Wouldn’t want the fun to escape.
Oh, could you imagine?
She hides in her garden
humming, hears the neighbor’s tune.
Looks back at a clown she left near the moon.
At least that’s how far a mind wandered.
Wonders what she thinks about.
Paper, ink, flicker, and flame.
Every day these days is the same
and last night I really missed you.
Warm water, wipe face paint.
I’ll weather this night
and look up and say things
that I cannot write.
Painted drain.
Wind blows, he hears what you want to say.
Listen for silence, it calls
and nothing is better than something
when you only want it all.
Right as the circus starts moving.
Another mirrored night.
this is your life chuck johnson 