directions for falling in love or attending a circus

I.

Something in you keeps dissolving like
sugar. Not to say you’re sweet on the
tongue. You’re hell-bent on destruction.
Prone to obsession and sending too
many emails. His army has surrounded
you, the man with the cigarette and
the scarf over his eyes. They’ll fire
rapidly but he never dies quickly. The
dream is always in slow motion. Like
his hand when he slaps you. Keep
remembering how he still breathes
without you. Savor the hurt, it only
gets worse. So beautifully worse.

II.

You’d never know this but you’re a
natural ladder-walker. Just don’t step
under it. It’s okay to let glitter fall
in your eyes, but never think
about the elephants. They’re too
much like you, tethered to invisible
strings. Don’t gasp when the lion eats
the trainer, it happens all the time.
It’s familiar to you somehow, anyways.  
Something about beggars and Chinese
girls on bicycles. Or perhaps fire-eaters
and rodeos. Never fall for clowns, they’ll
trick you into thinking you’re happy.
Study the acrobats. Dizzying, dazzling,
demeaning. Don’t cry when the trapeze
artist falls, it’s inevitable, she’ll tuck and
drop like a stone. Like when you see his
face and you’re sliding, sliding, the rope
tattered and frayed in your hands.
Your mouth dry as cotton candy. Tell
yourself to finally step up and see.
Welcome to the show.