2016 Clown Sightings – Janice Kang

nigh night     my speech impediment, perhaps, bleeds out from my crooked teeth stained with love((lessness))

“& what do ye ((cherubs in ribcage)) feel,” as the circus tonight bombinates & pitter patters like cotton candy shakes? sugarhighlover?

“naught,” they croon, or, perhaps, i am stuttering the near night heeding ‘gainst the crook of my shoulder her

shoulder which i stand up high-nigh on ballet slippers to placate my right ear upon,

hair framing my face like the wood ’round narcissistic mirror to which i have clown masks in left hand in in-

numerable defense. clown raids commence. i eat a ticket whole & tear myself in half with a dagger in hand

a metonymy for haunting. something haunts me & it is sterile felicity trying but fa(i / l)ling into the indigo on my knuckles. her nose is blushing     she says, “it is clown remnants”    I say—

naught. there are misfitting bats between my bloody hands     their wings trembling ‘gainst my fingernails in

gruesome vulnerability. i have a headache of bluebells i wish

i were a vampire with milk teeth skin.     immor(t)al & timeless like this rundown midnight carousel where

we spin in a teacup when no one is looking, bat-in-watcher’s-eardrums mixing

with his flesh a bouquet of funeral tunes. circus tunes & funeral tunes? i see naught hear naught.

the record player never stops, just re-broken rewinding that inverts the wings in life-line, static song transmitting through palms to patagia     & bright red kissing.

a circus is a masquerade & we are clowns ‘midst primordial urgings     luring dooms from our noses in trick or treat     hide & seek.