A clown

His face is chubby ＆ ruddy,

White eyelashes wink fitfully,

The rims of the eyelids with twinkling power,

An apple nose, smiling

As a blooming flower,

The flaxen head with messy braiding~warm

Like the grey merry-go-round washed out

By Time~Howbeit~still Warm;

He rides the wooden horse, swing ＆ sway,

Yet laughing suddenly gives away

In the delusion.

A mask

I bring it with me

Wherever I go as carrying

A heart’s made from plastic, motionless,

I wear it on my face meanwhile

Put it on my dress,

I show it to the boss

And use it to a miss,

Who looks like a star plays

Differently with so much emotion, Me is;

I attend a house holding a masquerade,

The melodies heard are uncertain,

Those unheard are more ambiguous,

Followed by the throng of figures waving their hips;

The color Red is on their lips,

Secretly slipping into these high-heels,

Long. Long hair’s as noir as the oil, thick or viscous

With the sweat expanding under the roof, nearly explosive,

Liquid flowing from the holes of the mould, spreading,

Becomes 8 hands of an octopus, tightly bound to smother;

Hence I shout, I shriek, I scream to release

Horror, horror, horror, horror, horror,

Still, a mask, Alas！buries my appearance.

A circus

With his performers as us,

We come from an asylum,

We stem from a beautiful countryside,

A wide waste land or a seaside,

Then meeting en route ET acting and reveling, ensuit parting,

But when the lights come on up the whole stage,

A clown wears a mask running a circus.