clowns

 

My crusade is to create smiles

out of nothing,

out of dark seas of despair,

out of connivance in awful sins

out of pain.

I am the clown, the jester, the thief

of tears, the collector of broken feelings,

the mender of drums, the tuner of internal instruments,

the door

to a special kind mourning: the death of sadness.

Empty your pockets of pain, your head of drama, your chest of dumbbells

trying to pull you down.

The circus is here, it is just arriving,

conquering your town.

Crusaders of laughter, promoters of joy,

defeating the darkness with make-up and jokes,

we serve you our own blood for cocktails

we feed you our own sad heart.