saltimbanques

[constantine]

and so it goes
this great melange
this sanguine sarabande
of jugglers and saltimbanques
spider-clinging to threads
aloft, on the highwire
in this carnival of dreams

it was never a matter of choice
we were born before birth
this irrepressible need
that drives and compels
this itch, this flapping of wings
lascaux, altamira
always the same, ancient
even then,
why do i waste my time
what can i possiby say or do
what is so damn important
i live for one day
i've a wife, a family
mouths to feed, fields
to clear and plow
pressing matters
pragmatic necessities
no time to squander
think of your responsibilties
we did not raise you for this
we want you to be happy
we want only the best for you
you can be happy, respected
you can fill your pockets
you owe it to your family
you know you do, you know you do
one day you will learn

it was never a matter of choice
i'm not wise enough to explain
it is beyond my power and ability
i cannot believe it myself, this itch
this undeniable obsession
that contorts and stretches that
flings and catches me like a bubble
spit out by the wave
the shiny irridescence that floats and drifts
upward, escaping the current (if only for a moment)
drawn by the warmth of the sun's fire
only to burst before reaching the flame

i am a fool and have always been so
i can't fit in even when i try
seemingly endless the hours i spend
scribbling, talking to myself
scratching my head, oblivious
blind, i walk into signposts and streetlights
the neighbors whisper, the children
make faces behind my back
i stutter and blush, even
to look you in the eye
is a test of effort and will

it was never a matter of choice
does one choose to wake up
the day demands it
the paper screams to be fed
i give it blood but it wants more
it wants my dreams and fantasies
it sucks my memories like marrow from the bone
it wants it all, it wants it all!