Clowns et al

how do we wait for a sound
that holds our life in its palms
how do we howl when the moon
howls back twice as hard
how do these beacons spin
on a dime when our wallets hold nothing but air
how do the shadows grow longer
than the patience that’s stripped raw and bare
how do the palpitations of a life
forgotten and ragged perambulate golden and proper before our eyes in a riotous heartbeat
how do lanes on a roadway converge with erratic distaste
when our hands shake at the motion and any notion of speed when we haste


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