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 Nov 2016 Leaetta May
Stephan


Bright within the sunrise sherbet
where apricot nectar reveals the sky,
the sweet harvest of morning
drips from your dawning smile
as I kiss the taste from
cinnamon cream lips
enjoying the flavor of us
 Nov 2016 Leaetta May
Stephan
.

What the hell is wrong with me,
where does this circus come from
Three rings that seem to open new tents in my mind
Dark tents filled with wild and dangerous thoughts,
pacing in a cage, waiting to be released
Yeah, you just try and make me
jump through one of those fiery hoops,
see where your head ends up and where
that whip is shoved

Sawdust everywhere as I parade around
Fluffing my feathers, thinking I know,
Proud ain’t even close to how I feel
as I swing from the trapeze,
sequins glistening,
looking for the meaning, the why
I keep asking why…why as I once again
light the fuse with cotton candy fingers,
shot from a cannon, screaming,
there is no net, not for me, not for these thoughts

Open this door and let me out,
I’m stuffed in this little car
with a bunch of clowns, painted on smiles
big floppy shoes and ****, they are all me
(Send in the clowns, I hate that song)
and I hate these thoughts
Juggled about, like so many *****
flying through the air, never touching the ground
and there they are, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls,
children of all ages, staring, laughing, pointing,
shoveling popcorn in their faces
then running in fear as these thoughts
escape confinement once again

Don’t you get it, can’t you see,
this is real, this is me
I love, I love deeply, I can’t guess your weight
but I can feel you rummaging for tickets
in my heart and all I have is for you
Free admission, stop by the petting zoo,
Share a branch with a giraffe, share
Share, wow, maybe that’s it,
maybe that’s why I smile
when the tents come down
heading for another place

another town

another time

send out the clowns
 Nov 2016 Leaetta May
Stephan
.

Drizzle coated the billboard
sitting on that desolate stretch of highway
waiting for someone to read
or at least hide behind, parked car, back seat
steamed windows, sighs just above a holler,
a collar unbuttoned,
casual abundance with the radio on
seeking a Clapton tune
as nimble fingers
show the difference between a slow hand
and a destined position,
where rain doesn’t matter
because it I just as wet inside
though hotter than an August day,
perspiring in the friction
as love hits the four way flashers
blinkers accelerate, left, right, faster,
names are called, tears are cried
and the road home now beckons . . .
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