Archive
03/19/09 - (2)
Frowno the Clown
These dreary days of my weary spirit's late-middle-age malaise Have me going about the dizzying business of tiptoe tripping Across the horizon's tightrope stretched, tautly, From dawn to dawn, twenty-four hours long. Didn't I tell you? I'm the star of my one-man Circus Minimus, The only performer in my "Somewhat Less Than Greatest Show," The renowned clown of lugubrious frowns, A cross between Bozo, Bello, Clarabell, and W. C. Fields, A pathetic little fellow doing his best to elude his own shadow.
Here I am, atop the high wire, using my hard-on as a balance pole! Now, I find myself human fodder loaded into an oversize cannon, About to be shot across the Snake River Canyon! And there I go, pulling the tails of the Siberian tigers As they leap through their fiery hoops (I'm trying to make them poop)! Oh! Look into the Sphere of Fear! I'm driving a motorcycle, Weaving in and out of six sadomasochistic Hispanic daredevils, Hoping not to crash into them, rather exit the cage intact! Hey! Now I'm wrapped in Jumbo the Asian elephant's trunk!
Perhaps, from this thumbnail sketch of my buffoonish act, I've impressed upon you the urgency of my struggles. And maybe not. Possibly, I need to work harder, To convince you that I'm certifiably depressed, tired of life, Ready to retire to my circus's winter headquarters, in Antarctica, Or to that far bourn from which no clown returns Or to wherever I might convince eternal rest to adopt me, Take me out of my misery, let the Siberian tigers maul me As they leap through the flaming hoops of my honk-horn hell.
03/19/09 - (2)
|
|||
|
|||
