I switch my feelings on and off like a magic trick.
out come bunnies from hats
maybe I’ll saw you in half or
I’ll tug on this never-ending handkerchief.
I tip my top hat to each new participant,
both of us blind, unsure,
because all of the magic,
the thrilling tricks,
I control none of it.
It’s a faucet with random temperatures,
so sure, so scalding, yet
freezing again in a moment.
It blisters, it numbs
all who come across it.

Reagan Fleming