StarCat/CatStar

This is Not Our Circus
By Carly Anne Ravnikar
I was a lavender on your doorstep, you
a broke back mountain of a climbing dude.
You a fretted hijacker, you a sweating
coin rubber. I was a cool drum mumble,
a stick that pattered on canvas, a brush
that stuck in tangles and pulled at the
root. You were tambourine. You were
cussing in a nursery, cussing up a storm.
I was band candy, I was melting makeup
and limping hair. You were fade razor,
you were sharpened to point pencil. I
was a rabid. I was a put down. You
were a lamp shade with a hole in
the seam. A new model on floor. A
hill to tumble down. I was a bucket.
A mold growing on the wall. I was a
hopscotch on the rocks. A race down
the pier. You were a let go. You were