Circus In Three Rings

In the circus tent of a hurricane

designed by a drunken god

my extravagant heart blows up again

in a rampage of champagne-colored rain

and the fragments whir like a weather vane

while the angels all applaud.

Daring as death and debonair

I invade my lion's den;

a rose of jeopardy flames in my hair

yet I flourish my whip with a fatal flair

defending my perilous wounds with a chair

while the gnawings of love begin.

Mocking as Mephistopheles,

eclipsed by magician's disguise,

my demon of doom tilts on a trapeze,

winged rabbits revolving about his knees,

only to vanish with devilish ease

in a smoke that sears my eyes.