never has one thing inside his hand for very long
and just as soon as he gets a bead
on what he's got he needs to read the
next one as it leads him to a newer
different same ol' temporary steadfast
place his face it changes just as fast
what was that and what is this and there
it goes and here it comes and come what
may he lets it go to see it come around
again but for a moment just a moment
was that ball one seen before or something
new but who could tell they fall so short
and stay so long so he tracks it on its path
which pulls the focus from his hands
and then must scramble as his frantic
antics please the crowd no more each
ball is source for new confusion new
derision source for shame each falling
ball bounces in infamy some horror some new
fame and each ball is somehow different as
they whistle through his hands but when they
bounce they touch the ground and then
they look the same
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