written by: Leanne Neill
I'm not of this world, though I don't rise above.
Can't quite commit to the pretentious set;
let alone settle for mediocrity.
Neither the funds nor the composition, either way.
I'm on a trampoline bounding between purgatorial
highs and lows.
A trapeze artist bluffing balance of the fine wire;
in reality they are wide and slippery with the grease
So I slip and I slide, waiting for my circus to arrive.
Knowing full well even then, I've not the courage to run.