Here's the newest version of Piccadilly Dream |
Last night riding Piccadilly Line - circus lions, trapeze artists, and bipolar clowns cartwheeled between each cart. Clown painted smile over frown, and still juggled his organs in stomach without dropping one. Accountants and defense lawyers picketed on platforms as each tunnel; petitioned peace in Underground. I was in front car reading the picket signs on 5:00 pm train with family members - saying things they normally never say, like we should burn our savings to start our bum life and love we share does not rely on pents in pockets. Ideas flowed out mouths like investments deposited in trust funds. I sat next to my Uncle, fourth row from the front, where he told me he loved me and meant it. And I learned how to cry again - how to dig my thoughts out from brain folds. We sat on seats to watch clown bounce around in latex spandex, and I played Cats Cradle with lions. Trapeze artists used hand bar as balance beam, while juggling two wedding rings. Brooklyn and Kimberly were married in back seats by the pope himself. Aisle sprinkled with dandelion peddles and the dance party woke up neighbor carts. We danced away politics and economy and conducted body heat as fuel for electricity. |