Richard Wilson Moss

Unknown | 9/10/2014 |


From whose loins do angels come?
I come from violent concoction of electricity and rain
Like sugar cane
Wrestled into rum.


Somehow death did not come
And life triumphant
Made more flowers and trees and animals
And people and their gods
That could not die
And this crowd roamed
The universe ferociously
Having forgotten
The love of life forever.


Eventually we will take a long walk
Through the final day of a bankrupt circus
Where performers and performance disassemble.
Clowns removing false grins,
The fire eater rinsing his mouth out and spiting
Into the sink where the bearded lady is shaving.
Tent stakes pulled up with the aid of tired elephants
Rolls of red and blue tickets thrown away
Stainless steel stands folded and sold to local ball fields
And as all gather and grieve of the last show forever
Perhaps the last thing to come down
Is the church of false image
The hall of mirrors.

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