Miscreants and midgets amble
ahead of me. I fall behind.
Soles of my converse sneakers
sticky with bubble gum and taffy
droppings. A red velvet curtain
parts like a rose in bloom
and I pick up the pace so as not
to miss the bearded lady's show.
She appears in a long, black gown.
An hourglass figure reminiscent of
Marilyn Monroe. My eyes become magnets,
attracted to the surreal image
standing before me. I imagine Dali
courting her, asking her to smile
as he paints her face among landscapes
of melting clocks and cracked eggs.
Behind me, a lizard man snaps his tongue
like a whip. Flies swarm away.
In the distance, a werewolf howls
at the tapioca moon. The crowd
dissipates into fog, leaving remnants
of footprints--some human, some animal.
Things better left unknown.