In the tumble glass sound
the clown wanders fierce
carefully, oh, so carefully
prey to scorn-fill emptying
his heart - soft sounds of
laughter a forgotten burst
vanished on the cold wind
they choose -to instill grim
rather than gayety - Scape-
goat he climbs one heap and
another of mad malice he grows
tired. Stumbling, blank, confused
until he passes the sunniest child
hears only the emit of gray groan -
This, this final flat failure of possibility
stamps the seal on his importuning soul
and the clown surrenders. Draws the thick
fleece of hope around his shaking shoulders -
and stops, for now.
Waiting for the wound to close -
for the tickle of gentler times and
the rolling rollicked rumbled return
of joy
