hands in the garden

..found crumbs
in road

on my crawl
to carny
ride-

sun dipped
in tank
of

deep sea sounds
drowned

in cheeky
pink

…relief-

candy floss
teeth

of mouthless
clown..

his comb over
blown-

i fled
fairgrounds..

to find no sign
of home–

just empty
road,

then flagged down
the freaks

and begged to
tag along,

“sorry pal, this circus
ain’t for fleas,

best
move on.”