II. Cumming Fairground

 

This is the most perfect of all worlds,

A maintenance worker tightening a bolt,

Saṃsāra – feet dangling from the Cyclops™

A panting, aching machine, creaking through

The air while twisting its spine for my thrill.

Anatta – My body is a thing flung – there is nothing

Here worth saving, form this Cyclops™

 

   After, wobbly knees, maybe eleven at this time?

   Only rode the rides to impress myself, look--!

   I can hold on, longer, can straight grin it.

 

Oh that funnel cake turned in my stomach,

Maybe not so brave, not like a Cherokee,

A cowboy or a conductor, I took off my sheriff star,

Removed the feather from behind my ear and

Handed my pocket watch to my mother and lurched.

 

   A sludgy rock inside my soft tiny body, Intestines rattled

   Shaking with a little bead of sweat on the brow + the small back.

   But I did do it? It counts, doesn’t it? I braved the scariest attraction.

 

Now I want my throne, my tickets back, a little praise.

“Son, I cannot believe you got back in line after the

Moment of brief and overwhelming hesitation.”

I got back in line and strapped into the seat,

I felt awfully, but by God, I rode the Cyclops™.