when the carnival comes to town

and when the
carnival comes
to town i'll be
leaving with it.
i have talents
i've kept hidden
from you, just
as you have
hidden things
from me. but it
doesn't matter
anymore, what's
done is done,
as they like to
say in those old
westerns, late
at night, in
black and grainy
white, but
i will be on the
road, like
kerouac, i'll be one
of them in grease
paint and balloons.
sawdust on my
furrowed brow.
i don't need to
be a star,
i just want to
be an attraction.
one man, on
the side with
his own decorative
boxcar, painted
blue, reading
poetry for
the masses. i don't
need to be loved, i
learned that lesson
well, a long time
ago, from you.