I have this recurring nightmare of being in a circus. I hang around the show and the orphanage sends incriminating photographs of me as an uptight square. I never get to be the trapeze artist, human cannonball, or clown. I'm stuck with scooping elephant droppings. The orphanage thinks I have a stake in the cotton candy stand but they are mistaken. Still the incriminating uptight squareness haunts me with every communique ever suggestive of the orphanage's maintained relationship with me. It reaches out with moldering moldy tendrils digging into my skin like roots sucking the life out of me. The branches above me dangle their gnarled claws, sighing "we like sugar, we want sugar". A sign nailed to the trunk says "Mother".