Jumping through hoops of phenylalanine fire and rings of benzene.
My own ringmaster.
Full on the food of Gods,
clutching It’s phosphorus whip.
The clowns rushing us about and into their car
packed tight like painted sardines with our several selves and shadows.
They’ve arranged the ransom,
high intensity discharge bouquets and mountain dew for Mescalito.
The brutality squad flash the lights and thirsty fangs on the roadsides.
I coordinate with friends of Ours.
The Circus is strange
concessions are complimentary
but for lost minds in the tip jars.
El Hongo quiere sus propinas,
no sus vivas!
Under the big top,
death has no act to perform
sanity walks the high wire.
There is no pole,
nor a net.
The Human Canonball?
All the freaks in the sideshow?
Those acts are yours alone,
Here at The Greatest Show on Earth.
J. Matt Goode is a college dropout and a ne’er do well. He drinks, smokes, thinks and writes. This all occurs in Mississippi’s Piney Woods, in the “Free State of Jones” area except, of course when he travels. Then, it happens wherever the hell he finds himself. He has been featured in the new Independent publishing company ‘Stay Weird and Keep Writing’s’ first chapbook, as well as assistant editor and weekly writing contributor. He can be reached at…