Whenever we have one of those talks
I wish I could shrink
into my seat.

I wish I could tell you that I
am not

happy

but I’m walking across the tightrope
of your heart

keeping glass balls in the air

I’m prancing gaily like well-preened
horses with plastic cherry feathers
waving like obscene tumorous
growths.

The act never ends
I hide behind that clown painted face

you’re perfect
but kids nowadays don’t go for
the vanilla cones

At the end of the day I find myself
in the circus of madness

as the fire-eater’s flame
flickers in anger

you can’t help but realise that
objectivity
has no place in relationships