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 
its 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 gone sweet and dry as cotton candy. Tell 
yourself to finally step up and see. 

Welcome to the show.