lawn jugglers

if you wanted to
leave, if you had
to, needed to, flee.

lawn jugglers. candy-
colored blossoms.
the circle is full.

a young man on a scooter wearing a tangerine bulb on his head floats around the bend like a headless jesus. the neighborhood has staged a contest to provoke running. bushes shroud us where we lean forward, looking for change or sense. giving up rusts my esteem.  i suffer the curse of seeing too much, of being seen seeing and i can't seem to shutter my gaze is too cursive, swirls when it should ride the rails straight into oblivion with the rest of them. thumbed, thingful. clinking table. verdant swarms swell. eye relay. orbital bibs. i rely too much on both force & farce, trying to make work work, which i know doesn't work. dwarfed by the gleaming, steaming machinery she operates, black lashes feather her pale twin beds. outside, a man kneels on the bright green lawn, before the fuchsia amphitheater, repairing his inflatable rose. the juggling around him ceased. seeking a living conclusion, a denouement that breathes. can you do too many things alone? lap screens glass them, silica asks what's next, clicks. i watch a little girl enjoy some cake beside the reflection of her yellow plastic puppy. i notice her mother warms herself with the image of a winter tree. inside, there is a gang of half-empty water bottles that loiter on the corner of my heart. my hurt is thirsty, but has no lips to drink. the neighborhood's monk graciously smiles past, wrapped in curry robes. there is a cherry red car parked beneath an old elm tree, the shadows of its leaves shimmering on its flanks like a resting animal drinking shade. the music coils around inside my head as i ponder which failure to roommate with. a long thin shaft of darkness pierces the side of the bright green lawn.