“Hi wire” he says, “it’s been done before.”  
On the edge of another bench with his  
hair on fire, bag of peanuts at hand,  
a galoot in cahoots with the crowd.  
Eating the flames with a casual flair,  
sings “Ashes to ashes, funk to funky,  
we know Major Tom’s a junkie.”  
To egg the roaring chickens on  
he thinks about flaying lions in the next round,  
but taking the easy way out clowns  
in his new canvas suit, jumping  
through the hoops, master as it goes.  
Tests a horse by lying underneath,  
wonders about the rear end of anything.  
Three rings bite the nose,  
incredible the way the old tent glows.