The rain is not at all comforting.
It is cold, the drops are tiny
And cling to everything –
The road is slick and pretty,
And I can feel the cold wet
Through the holes in my shoes.

Big rain and stormy rain,
I know them, I like them,
But this?
It feels like tears, like sobbing.
And I don’t like it at all.

~

You’re together now, back together,
And the breath that was held is released.
The show goes on with the music and the
Audience gasps and sighs, hopes you don’t die.
Because as much as they may say otherwise,
People love a happy ending -
A dose of catharsis over didacticism any day.
And you two just make it so much easier.

~

The Circus strongman struts the ring,
The Master cracks his whip –
Offstage the lion roars.
The Fire-eaters awe the crowd
With their gastronomic feats
And to keep the acrobats in time,
A drum, ringside, beats.

In the sideshow it is quiet,
The Big Top holds the swell,
The murmur and crush of the enthralled.
Holding court in her luxurious partition,
The Bearded Lady pours the tea,
Chatting with the Lizard Man,
While Identical twins with
Elastic Limbs limber-up for their show.

~

She’s like a bird.
Not some arrogant peacock,
Or flashy feathered thing,
Like a crow – imperious,
Admired.
Black adorns her angular
Perfection,
And people gather
To witness beauty
And to learn how to fly
From a master.
Black feathers, turn in the light,
To oil-slick rainbows.

~

See them dancing,
Twirling,
Whirling...
See them laughing,
Flirting,
Startling...
See them stop...
Falter...
Fall...
Dancing Girls lined-up,
One,
Two,
Three
In a row.
Dancing Girls up in lights,
Falling for the crowd.
They’ve paid – paid well,
To see this show
To see the Dancing Girls
Up in lights
To see them crack,
Crumble,
Fall...
Oh, that’s what Dancing Girls
Are for –
To break on cue,
Like dropped china dolls,
For all the world to see.

~

Shotgun, doll face, you’ve been caught-out.
Sitting there with that air of innocence,
It’s all a contrivance; we know that – you and I.
So soft you seem, so helpless, so beautiful,
Your brilliant colours – so blue your eyes,
So pale your skin, I wasn’t so surprised to learn
That you were made of living stone –
Polished sapphires that seemed so alive,
Flawlessly carved white marble, so skilfully made
That I thought at first to see colour in your cheeks.
All those that came before me, I am sure,
Were taken-in, imagining warmth in your touch,
Believing, believing that you were something,
Anything other than what you are.
Cold, doll-faced deceiver, loveless, lifeless,
Do you do it because it is your purpose?
Or only because you enjoy destroying us?

~

So long as I’m the spider and you’re the fly,
This will never work.
I’m not the kind of spider to fall for little things,
Lying helpless, twitching in my web.
This spider wants more than papery wings and
Dusty bodies cluttering the strands.

You need some weight to your wings, my moth,
I would hunt birds, with my long legs and sleek hair,
The thrill is in hunting what hunts you.
The bird, my prey and I, the spider, its.
A clash of equals, what the bird has in weight
I have in venom.
I like it when they fight back.

The Moth, the Fly, the Ladybird,
See, there are many used-up, scattered in my space,
They throw themselves at my web, so frail
Seemingly, but there they lie.
And more fall every hour.

But the Bird? The Bat? My fellow Spider?
None here to see, and why?
Worthy adversaries, they met me and found
Equal terms, and equal footing
Honorably, they were devoured or escaped,
Not let to be seen by sundry others.

The cadavers of insects, nestled in silver
Are a warning – “Do not attempt unless
you expect to meet your match”
If you cannot meet that, then you shall meet
Only your own end.

Do not expect the softly-softly,
Around here, you must fight for it.

~