Rogue Theatre

Come and see— one night only, all
the time: various forms of subtle
humiliation, scintillating acts.
Rolling with the punches, still
pretending, getting by and making
do. Buy a ticket, many tickets,
while your pocket throws every
caution to the winds. The sun
passes overhead, leaves its gash
across the furrows. Fish retreat
into the murky depths. Hear
the sad riff from harmonicas,
see men with familiar faces
touch fingertips to hat-brims
before jumping off the train.

 

In response to Via Negativa: Cold comfort.

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