Circus

Burning limbs throw up

yet another fairground lie

to trick the non-believer into

faith.

Mettling flesh and paper

masks until they are

one being with a hundred

faces.

Twisted truths strung

tight, a chain,

steeled against

formlessness.

Then

whispered prayers and

locks unpicked with

pinkies and silent

forevers

                and

sweat slickening the

chains untangling the

truth the defensive

falsehoods

          soothes

 aching limbs

drowns in light

what was wrung

         for

Faith yes

             but

worship too and

everything that

         fills.

I can be what I am

with you – the mirror shows

         only my

                    face.