The Circus Watcher (audio only)
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Some days, everything is a machine, by which I mean remove any outer covering, and you will most likely find component parts: cogs and wheels that whirr just like an artificial heart, a girl in a red cap redacting the sky, fish that look like blimps and fish-like blimps, an indifferent lighthouse that sweeps the horizon. I wasn’t a child for long and after I wasn’t, I was something else. I was this. And that. A blast furnace, a steel maze inside, the low-level engine room of an ocean liner.
2017
is saying, someday this day will be over.
A moon will presumably still be above:
a bone quiet, an inflatable in the scene
—the cool blue swimming pool
it finds itself in. And I will want to be.
My mother, the Queen, will want only
2020
Being a cult figure is the essence of being
a paradox in which someone
has managed to get themselves linked
to the theoretically real while
simultaneously getting themselves tied
to conventional assumptions about being
2025