a three-ring circus on caffeine;
incredibly entertaining as long as
you can keep the wild tigers in their cage.
In the first ring, imagination’s clowns
and their colorfully-costumed dogs
perform fantastically frisky tricks.
Random elephant thoughts
plod tails-in-trunks in the center ring;
going round and round under hot spotlights.
In the last ring, fast ideas on noisy
motorcycles race recklessly within the
locked, metal-meshed sphere of the mind.
Rising upward, visions of long-legged,
feathered women twirl dizzily from tethers
until the human cannonball is shot high into the air.
Unexpectedly, the glaring mania of lights
dim to reveal the surreal threats of a
thousand glowing souvenir light sabers.
The mood suddenly trips over an
empty cotton candy cone and tumbles
head-over-high-heels down the steep steps;
Rolling from the upper nose-bleed section,
plunging past shocked spectators to crash
into depression on saw-dusted floor of arena.
Ladeez and genteel-men, may I have your
attention pleez: be sure to take your medications
or risk falling from the sky with no safety net below.
a poem in my pocket 
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