THESE MISERABLE MOMENTS
(how a clown would stand, if a clown could stand)
I hate the fact of silence when it beseeches me
to shut up; I hate the fact of no one talking back.
My arms are tied with the string of guts, and the
disc-rows plowed down my farmer's back are
yet bleeding. Stories are in that blood - trickling
down in my angry silence when I want so much
to talk and be listened to. Outcast forever? Looser
with a millions bucks? Why oh why is that?
-
I bought a mansion on a rock-strewn hill.
I live there when I may, and may be there
still. Each room is a reflection of something
other than what it is. Emmett Kelly and me,
alone. Emmett Grogan and me, at home.
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