My world is a brooding circus of grief
That’ll summon the crowds with a skeleton wreath
Pipe chilling keening instead of a band
With a coffin in the circle for the masters stand.
Handing out blood in the ice cream cones
In place of the coconuts, peace waits to be stoned.
As the children squeal and play with the rats
And the stilt-man carries tall clouds of bats.
I’ll welcome you into the black show tent