Toddler, I didn\'t like clowns
with their big drunken noses
and flattened mortician faces.
I felt them ,like joyful succubi
making future corpses laugh .
Liars engaging in gesticulatory practices.
Obscene creatures who seduce
little children with their antics ...
Everywhere bugs ,undernath
the big top of life and after or never...
Beneath respectable uniform and cassock.
Cassowaries thanking the hostess
in seventh heaven ...
They were everywhere in my thoughts.
Nightmare and day creatures ,
sleeping in my sheets
with a sticky call of desire ,
sneering at me from behind
the tv scream ...
One day,concealing their damnation
under a scowling mask ,
joining the disgust for love
like a silent epidemic
that strucks fear into the hearts .
The servile herd walking
confidently to the white house
as a final injunction ...
Uncovered face,
I survived the holocaust .
I\'ve seen the august
without audience ,weep ...
And the most magical
of painted jesters
waving horn of musk and plenty !
My childhood clowns are always there !
Maga! Maga ! alleluja !
Mister Proper\'s smile is scented
with ballisic extracts
for saturday night bullets !
I see them on the main square
inventing new tricks
to make people rejoice .
In the well-kept broom cupboard
only the vacuum bis repetita
and the hoover no longer has faith...
Sir tomfool takes one last turn
make-up dripping
onto his undead head ...
The marian stars,will one day
fall from the azure .
The sun will yawn of boredom
at the last show .
Your memory,buffoons
will be no more than
a dying ember in the spirit
of a handful of survivors...
But I do wonder ,
What would poetry be
without clowns to inspire it ?