you bought your ticket,
year round roller-coasters

and a faded welcome sign,
hanging on by one lonely *****,

the most unamusing park
there is.

practicing screams in line,
"I'm not even scared,"

you boast, but I see your eyes
shifting a little in the slatted light.

chewy popcorn, almost squeaks
when you bite it, coca-cola like

midwest flat land. looking
around, it feels that way too.

pretty sad when you beg the
tumbleweed for some of it's time.

blows past you, unaware,
uncaring, uninterested

in anything but the wind.
startling clarity settles.

you have a ***** loose, honey.

I was talking to the ferris
wheel, of course, but

I'll take you high too,
scrape the sky even.

"why touch a storm cloud?"
because I can.

poke the sleeping bear.
I want to see where he hides

those claws, if he has any at all.
I've heard the rumors, but

some people have to find out
for themselves.

what's honey without a few
stingers in your shoulder anyway?

still honey, but that's
besides the point.

reminds me of the gas station
lollipops we got on the way here.

bee's honey, my honey, it's all
the same: all honey, tastes sweet

no matter who it belongs to.
still nothing on victory though.

more cotton than candy, more
squeaky wheels than you're used to,

this house of mirrors a revelation.
hold my hand on the trek up, and

scream for me.