On the eve of his birthday, I dedicate this poem to my dear English friend.  I wrote it for him five years ago.  Have a great one, C!

the bouncy ball man’s bi-polar journey

unlike the yo-yo

with its advantage

of a straight trajectory

he rises

into the heavens

where he dances unabashed with comets

using astroids as castanets

while his Castilian boot heels click across the sky

his silky sable hair being blown

by cosmic winds

his head thrown back

as a gleeful song

rises from his throat

the blessed cold and dark

do not bother him

His descent

takes him past us

and as he passes

he laments the fact

that we don't see him

he thinks

below

in the depths

the pressure is so onerous

like atlas or the turtle

he struggles to hold up

his own world

the cursed heat of pain and sorrow

subjecting him to

merciless vexing light

and unbroken rage

eventually sets him alight

and as he burns

what comes from his throat

sounds nothing like song

but as does the phoenix

he will rise from the ashes

again transitioning

once again a passerby

in the land of man

he still laments the fact

that we don't see him 

he thinks

but this time he wonders