Archive
04/24/09 - (2)
Sad Sacks
Who's that sad sack, seated over there, in the corner of his loneliness? His solitudinous soul is showing, all over his Emmett Kelly face (Though hidden under the grease paint's smeared impasto) — That clown-frown scrunched up, downturned into a defeated smile, Those doleful eyes that could fill all the elephants' water buckets.
There was a time when, almost, I might have recognized him, Identified him as, if not kith and kin, Someone closer to me than I might ever have guessed, A simulacrum of myself, in a pantaloon's illusional disguise. But not tonight, when I'm too much into my own corner of loneliness.
And so, our shadowy klieg-light paths, Flashing across the night sky, like sun and moon in raging eclipse, Don't cross, rather fade into vague, incomprehensible gazes — Two sad sacks, sitting at different tables, all evening, Sweeping their lives' detritus under the same rug, eating, leaving.
04/24/09 - (2)
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