Tiny metal sea turtles wear five-leaf clover hats
and dance to reggae music as
the happy dogs play poker in abandoned subway stations
a father’s voice on the radio a mother’s face on a billboard 
I feel a family I do not have
I am small, man on stilts. A nightmare, a bad dream,
a fluorescent adolescent with the orange 
drag of shame.

Let’s run away to the circus!
Where?

The circus! Let’s run away to the circus where we'll stand on our Forrest Gump stilts and sigh at all the ticky tacky houses dancing on the horizon.

Big apple, big tent, 
I am small! I’m a traveling circus, the last of its kind!
Step right up ladies! Step right up gents! 

The clown car is leaving the station, kid, but there’s another one in a few minutes and then another after that... we're on tour 
(indefinitely)