Sunday, April 28, 2013

28. Fairground

Brash galaxy of light and noise
screaming with children
burned with laughter and tears;
muscled pumping engines
manipulating gaudy chandeliers. 
The Cinderella of night is pushed
from this mud-clad tent of tight excitement.

Pungent nasal assailment of diesel fume and candy floss;
odorous cocktail. 
Sharp shots of sparkled static pierce battlefield ears
as yesterdays brassy pop-masters
fumble, in integrated deadlock, to claim attention.

Spinning webs of red and yellow blur,
devour the gullible in a vortex of speed,
a frenzy of vertigo,
the web relaxes its grip
releasing its catch, spun dry of cries.

A gentle-giant unicycle stirs through the air
reaching up into brief breaths of high fresh darkness,
stroking the sky
which will cast its silence, again,
in the forge of night.

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