Under, the high
Nineteenth-century
Stamped-tin ceiling
Sits the fool.
When as a child
He was asked
What will you be
When you grow up?
He replied,
“A bum”
“A clown”.
He got his wish
He became
A bum
A clown,
An Emmet Kelly
Chasing that ever
Diminishing light.
He loves life
He says
“It’s always something”.
Everyday something new”
Usually worse but new.
He might as well hang around
To see what it is.
He assimilates
Other peoples
Experiences
And opinions now.
Maybe he always has.
His knowledge of things
Seems to be
Less a product
Of effort
Then an ongoing
Process of
Epistemological osmosis.
Happiness
He believes
Is waiting to see
What will happen next.
“Tomorrow is
Another day”
He sighs.
“Consciousness”
He whispers
“Is only what I tell myself
To keep away the darkness.”