Always a Sundae

I don't think 

"Maybe..."

...though

we watch 

for the split

that enters in, 

into the sound

of life's merry

spin and all

the horses

stomping round

...with you 

it's always been

wholly yes on

another kind of

sacred ground

...like for some

of us there's 

a ticket, 

an open picnic,

in the park, 

instant fiction

and simple

prayers

for creativity

answered 

in the dark

clouds

beyond some ideal

that we feel and

we hold against 

the thought

of any 

of prison

even as 

these gates 

close up and 

the rides shut

we feel it pressing

on like a hug

of a ghost, or even god

we see ourselves

in the midst above 

the certain Mundane 

that arrives,

like a clock...

and shudder off

every treat and reward

that's whipped

and spurred

to a gallop

with the sweat

of a Mustang

caught in

Carnival