The Circus

At first was confusion,
a separation, a balloon
floats above a child’s head.
Connected by a tenuous thread
logic strings posits in increasing
convolutions, an incest of snakes.
A division of cells:  the genes 
split like taffy at a state fair,
pull a membrane, a veil across a
Moslems face, to separate, identify;                                              
a Vedic god in search of company,
a flood gate of names pours forth.
Then chaos curls around, coalescing
into a grammar which pulses blood.
Each moment circles back like clowns
on tricycles circling the Big Top,
until all eyes, all thoughts stop,
focus on a center; movement’s stilled.
No logic, no faith, no constructs to fail:
in union all systems fail, no cause to 
no effect; being balances in silence,
without even a drum roll to disturb
this Houdini from his escape.

(circa 1990-1994, from “If This is a Comedy, Then Why Aren’t We Laughing)

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