Crawling up a circus wall
like a paper man I rose,
looking down I saw the fall
and wished my grave would close.
The ceiling above my head had gone
clouds they seemed so near,
from a gaping wound where lightbulbs shone
now dripped a crucifix tear.
I walked a million miles that day
on a lonely graffiti street,
all I saw was a seance grey
and beggars on twisted feet.
Life was there I gulped the air
a taste of burning choices,
I floated down no wing nor stair
free from salted voices...
@Steven Francis 1995
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