The clowns

Toddler, I didn't like clowns 

with their big drunken noses

and flattered mortician faces.

I felt them ,like joyful succubi

making future corpses laugh .

Liars engaging in gesticulatory practices.

Obscene creatures who seduce 

ittle 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 under 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 life 

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...

Mister bolster takes oe 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...

 What will  life be like 

without clowns to inspire the poet ?