The clown and her colors

She hated her looks and always the clown
made a career of the grotesque
She exaggerated every plural detail and,
relentless, submitted herself to the surgeons—
14 surgeries in 12 years

Afraid of the ordinary,
all clowns like me wear white gloves, she says
This audience of thugs – they want a car, clothes, a guy or gal
That isn’t much to want and, oh yes, before I forget—
they also want to be feared

Our partial and distorted views abound
If you’ve never wished your lover dead
perhaps you’ve never loved
She reaches out to thugs and smiles her grotesque —
They laugh, they cry, they laugh

She seeks fluidity and fixity at once
Before the first time there was no time
They resent her for some hideous spurious crimes...
A sip of good whiskey makes you only want the next
They smile then and leave the party early

No explanations, just a spice seller’s bargain
It’s not brave to do the only thing to do
The blazon red heat of her heart is subsumed
in the color she spent a lifetime trying to sense—
that light sharp surface indigo blue


-September 3, 2012-