This circus is a myriad of myths.
Our dimes and our diners are now obsolete
as the water-wheel centrifuge dives down and then up
again to fuel our secret ballot response.
There are no True Defenders of Freedom under the Big Top.
They all play to the reality T.V. driven
psyche of fuzzy reception
and the watchers believe with giant dry eyes
lubricated long after their sweat-stained stadium seat
is stolen by silent soldiers.
They dangerously entrusted their livelihood
only to become slaves of a chemical industrial complex.
And now the insects have cameras that listen to your buzz
and the warped mirror is now two sided to make sure
they're there watching. You have to struggle to make your way out
of the crowded jackets and peanut shells flinging dust in your eyes.
The only place left go, to leave the circus behind
you must first untie the knotted lies of where the post holes are dug.
You have to find the sound that is taught and hidden under the elephant's rug.
Don't be surprised when cut back all of the slack, you find yourself in the woods
or the desert never wishing to go back.
