There is a foot on my head and laughter at my back,
Nothing I do will release me from this trap.
Run around, jump, spin, stagger and fall!
Trapped in a spastic dimension,
Like a clown in a glass box.
Jump, spin, stagger, run around again
You can struggle and strive if you like.
To all ends, No difference made!
You will be greeted by more of the same.
Try to make it work but some things never change!
No talent, No chance, nor music or art,
Just these spastic jitters and a crumpled heart.
I lit a fire to calm my aching soul
Smoke billowed through the yard and the street
A few coconuts for fuel, and their rancid fumes filled the air
Peace torn apart in the smoke and choking stench
Dark birds gathered to pick over burned offerings
My wretchedness exposed
Ready to be devoured like flesh from scorched bones
No time to ponder or chance to grieve
Back to bread labor put away your dreams!
Sometimes every effort is met with calamity, shame and ridicule...
I take comfort, to laugh heartier, louder than the din that surrounds me!
Not hollow or empty but maniacally in Zen.
All is ridiculous, Lets not be serious!
The Gods of Olympia might scoff and scorn but to this life I was born. And so will proceed, whither my headstone does read, Here lies a joke, mock him while he sleeps!