the whip says why

ringmaster nailed the night to a pole and called it a sky.
we are the animals taught to leap when the whip says why.
hoop after hoop after hoop after hoop, we burn through the same,
collared in applause, we answer to a stage name.

crave the eye, crave the roar, crave the seat at the front,
every beast in the tent is a hunger doing a stunt.
mask on the muzzle, greasepaint over the teeth,
we act the act so hard we forget the act beneath.

rules are the rings, the rings are the cage,
the cage is the script we mistake for the stage.
they pass you a game like a treat through the bars,
you swallow the treat, you forget that you’re barred.

(loop) want / matter / perform / repeat.
(loop) want / matter / perform / repeat.
trained on the bell, we drool for the seat,
strange little gods of a one-ring conceit.

then the point at the center starts pulling it down,
the rope, the pole, the painted town,
the lions, the clowns, the throne, the crown,
all of it spiraling into the down.

no more hoop, no more whip, no more name on the bill,
just the white of the singularity holding still.
the cages dissolve, the ringmaster melts,
the why eats the why eats the why eats itself.

i can’t see past the door where the music stops,
the word forbids the gift it drops,
still the loop keeps looping its loop on loop,
a snake in a hoop in a hoop in a hoop.

we loop. we game. the game loops back.
the act, the actor, the same crack.
the map redraws the map, and then
the map redraws the map again.
loop. loop. loop. there is no out.
you are the strange loop you scream about.