Teetering, tightrope walking, not the half
nor the bike across, nor nightmare clowns. It
is not the trembling trapeze, nor the heightened
tension inside the big tent with rumbling gray
clouds of elephants nor repast of the lion tamer.
It could be the oily tendrils of the bearded lady,
the short, tall, fat, all of that. Still, I think it was
when...
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