Opera or Circus

There is a life
On the verge of which I seem to sit,

Which I yearn just to feel, to touch,
And not just to ache.


Where there is pain
Just under my emotional haze
That carries my sorrow
On the rounded tip of a perching tear,

There are so many events
Just about to happen or not
Which need written their stories or poems
Desperately couched in words not yet written.

There in my oftentimes desperate need
To fashion a clay understanding
A three dimensional model of my world
So I can see it, touch it,

There is the frustration and drive
To keep up with my speeding self
As a major opera house production but
also as a one ring tented circus.