circus children play with fire by nicole scott

go home

this poem was featured in "I eat meat everyday"

Inside cannons you learn not to believe in walls. You also learn you are in another type of stomach. Don't choke. Once outside, you have the choice to believe in the ground, but is the cannon causing you to shoot or be shot?

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Smoke like scribbled graphite is all they have to tell of your last words, whatever rotten apples were in your eyes.

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Once you're outside, the people who love you, they choose to forget about you. Not your fault people forget what sweet things keep them blooming.

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Fire is most powerful when you light it, and it's burning a hole right through your own stomach. Nothing will keep your body temperature down when you are half a blink away from becoming magma or a freshly juiced star.

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Stars aren't yellow like children's coloring books suggest. They are injected with fiction and isn’t that made from all the different types of light which makes a circus tent so voluminous,

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that it's an entirely different corpse?