"The Show"
Ceiling
shatters
Greenhouse —
vertical knives.
Falling.
A calling.
Dealing.
Matters.
My spouse,
Two wives.
Ailing,
and falling.
Feeling —
scatter.
Your Faust,
she dives.
“Old.”
But, Jung.
Two fools,
filament spools,
adorning
our regalia.
appease the throngs
sing our songs
tents we belong
The show must go on.
(fin)