A single clown
drowning in an ocean
making people laugh
to death.
An artist in a room
of torn fabric silks
creating beautiful paintings
that the world observes.
A musician in an empty street
performing to the wind
a soliloquy of pain
disguised as a masterpiece.
A poet in their room
writing little snippets of sonnets
trying to reach to her, his love,
a deep lakeside of words, of emotions.
A mother somewhere at work
busy pushing 18 hours at home
cooking meals that taste extraordinary.
Somewhere the meanings fizzle out
like a record player in a room of people
slowing skipping to the next song, skip
ping over lost thoughts
we forgot once.
12.23.2022.
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W E L C O M E
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