First become a crackpot. Become so unbelievable
no one would be surprised if you fail. And then
make it so jaw-dropping impossible, spin it around,
until reality is amazing. Make a strange brew of
inspiration and incredible risk, like a life-commitment
marriage, or rising from poverty on a single idea.
The proverbial rags-to-riches story
can only happen in a place people migrate to
thinking the streets are really paved with gold,
when in fact, they are brick. What person does not like
a story with a happy ending?

When you are easily dismissed, it is more impressive
when you make things work, like clockwork–
just like the first wheel must have seemed impossible
to prehistoric man.

Make a design in secrecy, then spring it on someone
at dinner so it becomes a legend of a sketch on a napkin.
Make it without known design flaws of stresses,
on something so large and unwieldy and otherworldly.
Make engineers scratch their head. A puzzle
no one knew would succeed–dizzy as love.

Be laughed at; but have the last laugh.

What is the difference between genius and fool-hardy?
One seems as though they are flawed, while the other
imagines themselves as being more than they are.

I am spinning stories of creation, and the room listens
with stupendous incredulousness.

Boy, are they in for a surprise.

2. Building a Dream Wheel

Improvisation is always in winter,
when only four months remain
and no one place can build everything all at once.
Each section was constructed separately,
and assembled on site. Frost was three feet thick,
making by vibration turn sand into quicksand.
This is when bragging can lead to disaster.

It is important to never share a secret. Therefore,
no notes of a design remain, just like the first creation
had no record, just like we forget a second date
after the strangeness of the first date has passed.

When spinning out of bounds of what is known,
into a trust of the unknown, someone must be first.
My secret is safe with me.

3. The Wheel

People could see the Fairgrounds and City, miles out
onto Lake Michigan which seemed to swallow the sun.
You could view Illinois, Wisconsin, Indiana, and Michigan,
as you swung in a circle.
There seemed to be no end to the horizon.

3000 incandescent light bulbs mounted
on the Wheel blinked on and off like meteorites.

4. The Thrill

What is the circumference of a circle compared to
the insistent voice of God spinning reality before you?
What motion could life us into an arch, almost touch
tears and be torn away again?

This metal cage will have a safety bar when entering
and leaving, hold us in place within centrifuge
or from jumping into the sky’s arms.

5. The Ride

This gondola to the stars, will lift us into a tight circle,
as we swing and rock unsteady and secured,
trusting nothing and finding enough fear
to write home about, assuming someone believes you.

Your breath might be taken by pigeons.

This wheel of surprise is nothing more than
a giant bicycle wheel. This dream is a sphere
to nowhere, and yet it takes you places
you’ve never been.

6. Rumor

Chicago is pulled away as you travel back,
hung suspended in the highest keystone of air.
When I descended, facing the lake,
I saw a drowned bloated body fished out.

The rescuers pull out all of the stops.

The Ferris Wheel whistled signals.
The next person was boarding
when excitement broke out.
My gondola settled, locked in place,
before moving again
in a pattern as predictable as tossed dice.

The bottom chair had a new couple
daring love and fear, spitting in in the eyes,
their version of death-defying
while things die around them.

Fairgoers gawked at the left behind.

What goes around, comes around.
Whether it is seasons, or galaxies,
or seagulls above suddenness of fish,
or the bicycle wheels of a heat.
That daisy we pull apart to learn
who loves us, who loves us not.

Whose conch shell of ears cannot hear us,
when we pray for the moon and get nothing.

We toss into shallow fountains,
for wishes plentiful as rain drops.

Nothing works.

The ride comes to an end, excitement past.
The fair is empty of any charm.

7. Investors

We count out change
after paying for construction and hired hands,

spokes of metal grinding without sound,

where would the Exposition be without us?
How empty the pier, how absent the crowds
wanting their money’s worth. We work sand
under our fingernails, the last call for adventure,

where no one wants to show white-knuckle terror.

8. The End of the Ride