He dances up the ladder
averting the Luddites
below, who smash the rungs
with weathered blunt force.

His acrobat-feet used to bound
effortlessly across the strung-out rope
and the people would cheer when
the ringmaster flapped his greasy mustache.

Ceaseless beats prod
his tempered heart
blued with blood
frozen in rusty pipes.

How he loved the morning crack
of spine-splitting handstands
and the flowing rush of blood
that swelled his head.

His piqued hands
squeeze the callous
stilts that splinter
the slightest slip.

His falls used to be
met by elephant-hugs
that left him longing
for something bigger.

The pounding soon
endures the howling
of a ragged hound
that bemoans for scraps.

He recalled the puppy-eyes
that would shine at