Blurred spectacle, ineffectual – let’s call it romantic. On awakening I look straight at the sun. I’m pinned to the corner like the class clown. But once I get in front I’ll let you drown like a cat. ‘Till I’m dealt that card the engine’s on, I’m in the car. One suck on the pipe and I’ll be gone. I’m accountable, I’m responsible – you can call me pragmatic. What took away the fame? Could it be built up again – the acclaim and the constant eulogies for class clowns like me? But once I get in front I’ll terrorize all I want and the world wont turn... stops and stagnates..disintegrates. This romantic dream keeps you in a cage...

Should I not fraternize with these angels I’ve loved?
But if I’m out of time, I’ll say my goodbyes and float downstream...
and have cynics witness me grow rotten at the seams...

S>e