shone a light on the circus
exposing the wires
we wear
'cuz we liars
claimin' we fliers
trapezin'
hangin'
ourselves
in air.
For fans who don't really care.
Guirgis
regurge-this
for the folks in the stands
for the stans
who would stand
for the man on trapeze
but whose "love" disappears
when he's down on his knees
And Guirgis?
speak to that man with no net
bring him down from the rafters
before he forgets
that the urges -
the surges -
that keep him free falling?
Are interior
sacrosanct fears.
Remind him, sir, would you?
Through word or deed, could you?
that the eyes that look
in the mirror and see
the inferior man
staring back at me
are stigmatic.
And stigmata? Is tragic.
Guirgis
confirms this
in "Last Days"
when he says
Good people
end up in Hell
because they can't
forgive themselves.
When life
like the play, plays out?
The way out
is to simply walk through
the open door.
But it's the cage that we adore.
Defying depth
denying ourself
as the crowd screams
"Encore! Encore!"
