Themselves Another Part Of The Clown's Brain
i am the wizard...the...hush...awkward hawk-eyed
wizard...
who's melancholy state of stubborn shows him the hard
place up close
and conjures a lucid quandary...
the dreamiest paranoia....
where's the rock...the rock...i want to fix the rock..
talk it into being my pal...
better yet my indolent solid stood apprentice...
but thanks, but no thanks...but...there is no rock...
just me...and my gloomy hand-carved hard place...
no student...no new chew toy
for my bootleg hug and kiss to tear in to ribbons...
worst of all...all my fuss and careful
obsessing...frivolous...
it gets painted over with lacking and
stuffed...grotesque with missing...
now fruitless...
i set meticulously sharpened traps...for bugs
with ferocious little mechanised insect crippling
jaws...
and throw away my junior wizard cap and wand...
these pupils will be dinner and hopefully cephlopods...
now i can smile at the cut out moon and
pretend...hardcore...
it's comical and made of cardboard...
in a while i scamper in its film about my quarters
collecting all the intricate sprung death bundles and
free
the teeny-weeny thinga-magiggers...
dropping them in their bruised seeping abdomens into a
jar...
one by...one...
a cloudy glass jar of sour miracles...
it's eliptical, and made of guts...resonance
collected...
i tip-toe through wild guesses and wide eyes...
dipping...i hope it's cute...dipping my hairy knuckles
and minced cuticles...
into the open jar...seconds later...later...aletrlatetr
a firm pinch invigorates the dying tensed writhing
critter...wriggle wriggle...
i would like to look down its throat...
but it only snaps and hisses at my innocent cruelty...
bad beasty bad...
so be it...it's rectangular and made of ash...
i lean back into the dim bizarre of my work space...
my neat and straightened work space...
to...to...seem just...to seem...to...
as i suck its thickened pearly stomachs from a
throbbing in caving thorax...
i just can't seem to...study taught in this poor
reader's paradise
and these uncomfortably queer sandals.
a sign...lost appetite...i lean...a sign...leaning
further...a yawn...
leaning further back crack
a pointless pencil in my only pocket with no holes
snaps in two
and pokes my skinny leg...
kinda...kinda reminds me of lightning...
i don't believe in zeus but i'm scared stiff of
clowns....
look i'm naked...a wizard...and surely mad.
i don't believe in zeus but i'm scared stiff of
clowns....
look i'm naked...a wizard...and surley mad.
i don't believe in zeus but i'm scared stiff of
clowns...
look i'm naked...a wizard...and nearly happy.
it's circular and made of seasons...
pretty...ugly...pretty...ugly...pretty...pacing from
desk to sill...
i turn my mirrors off and on and on and off and then
make believe the wolves are telling me it's midnight...
except it's just the last few hours howling
night...night...
i know my desk hates me...so do the traps, jars,
nervous ticks
and loudmouthed pointless pencils...
it's okay...all right...because...'cause
i'm gonna write and write and marry all its cracks,
chips and knots,
get them really pregnant then leave with its friend the
chair
and all my stationary...
yum...a breeze...carry me...
i feel like...the other son
the riddles blend in with the stars
in with the crickets stuck in the middle of
somewhere...
chirping madly...i'll be happier alone...
naked where no one can ever find the crickets...
