Comedian

In all that seeming unfurled
I looked for myself in so much of your prose, just because I was an egotist.
That year, I played a hobbled man onstage
Clowning in Italian and Turkish
Long, garish vegetables hanging from my mouth and balloons on my shorts
I played coy but was obsessed with you remembering the beautiful
I hobbled, insulting the handicapped.

Priest and pastor went unquenched,
Rabbi full of spontaneous rhythm and flatulence
Rastafari shaking their tambourines.
Who lives in this display?
I was just there as the doorman/woman and emcee of debauched cabaret...
The psychedelics held their sway.

No stage door romance, for that was too wild for my quiet thoughts
My severe cell, witnessed when all were all-but-looking
Answered by prayers of routine.
The man who knocks at dressing-room is always the same, and he will never love me.

It was my love for no one else that made me write.
So never were my secrets hidden;
So often was I kept in doubt.
The simplest way to hide me was directly in front of you.

8/25/14