Stuff written while I should be working on my next novel.
Friday, February 19, 2016
When the circus is in town
They seep beneath the door
Their noses a red stain upon the air.
Their bodies made of laughing gas,
Perform the feat of fitting
Ninety-nine, in a car.
They take you high,
They hit you like a custard pie,
I don't know why I think of them.
Except that everything is thin,
Except shoes, which are enormous,
Pants which are baggy,
And filled with seltzer.