deepundergroundpoetry.com
This Circus
In this circus,
the piano plays itself.
In this circus,
No one settles down.
In this circus,
No one ever laughs.
In this circus,
All the freaks are in the crowd.
the piano plays itself.
In this circus,
No one settles down.
In this circus,
No one ever laughs.
In this circus,
All the freaks are in the crowd.
Published 30th Oct 2018
| Edited 31st Oct 2018
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The author encourages honest critique.
30th Oct 2018 8:40pm
I wonder what your poem would be like if you broke it down into 4 stanzas?
31st Oct 2018 1:43pm
It might flow better that way, also that way the form has the potential to be extended, not a bad idea.
24th Mar 2023 8:30pm
