Clown Crown, the second half of Rube Barb

[crow]

This is the second half of Rube Barb, called Clown Crown. The whole piece is dedicated to Patch Adams, and I plan to hand-write it and mail it to him after I incorporate y'all's feedback. Maybe it informs the first half, maybe . . .

Clown Crown

And I hear . . .

You must really be a clown,
To shout love amidst the battle,
A tragedian
Grieving uncynically for the vulnerable belief,
Weaving
Scenes of soldierly transcendence,
Acting them out on wings of leaves.
You duck the razor and stand solemnly so you can breath the night air,
Train your gaze to the horizon where the sun sets while the sword bears
down . . .
You must really be a clown.
And in the end, left to die among the crowd, you ape about in a shroud,
Begging the clouds to s i n g with you, and not to lift you out?!
Sammy Davis saying "what's that sound" to the angel, like a member of the gallery,
And not "death be not proud" to the stranger who came over to take you out?
Hallelujah to the night with no nod to the ground?
You must really be a clown.
Trapped in a box? Locked up in a body?
Fearless? So in love with beauty that death
Is a myth and meaningless
And its sway
Laughable?
You must really be a clown
To think that belief
Is
Even remotely
passable.

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Milo, trueenigma, thanks so much. I'll fix this one and Entropy before I post any new work. Y'all are great!