A circus tent and all the folding chairs fit in an old coffin for travel

There is no grace in act five
Only the nerves, insect-like twitches
Involuntary bowel movements, and confusion
a snail in salt doesn't fall asleep
with a half-smile
like Grandma from the after-school special
it twists and contorts
it jerks and writhes for some time
like a living severed limb on fire