The Mad Clown
"If there are twelve clowns in a ring, you can jump in the middle and start reciting
Shakespeare, but to the audience, you'll just be the thirteenth clown"
--Adam Walinsky
The mad clown has many moods,
Which he projects onto others,
Seeing the world as shifty
And insecure --
The mad clown writes poetry
Of his madness, cursing
The apparent banality of living,
Wearing his striped red suit
With shiny black shoes
And long hair in pony tail
With his nonchalant attitude
Of fuck the world,
I'm an artist --
But he's just as little and
Insignificant as the people
He writes about, who have
Joined his mad circus of
Flatterers and admirers --
But it's just a juggling act
With smoke and mirrors --
Underneath it all is
The utter darkness of derision
And pretense, where
The clown is just a puppet
With no will of his own
But only that of his audience,
Who claps at his silly
Flights of fancy --
The mad clown and the audience
Become one in the absurd dance
Of fantasy that veils
The hollow reality
Of their sick and incestuous
Relationship, for neither one
Can wake up to the intrinsic
Truth of the world,
Which cares not for the clown
Or his audience,
But only the authenticity
Of one's being.
September 29, 2006
Copyright © 2006 by Alexander Shaumyan