The 10 Days Of Gregory Corso's "Clown"

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Like the jester who blew out candles
tip-toeing in toe-bell feet
that his master dream victories
--so I creep and blow
that the cat and canary sleep.

I've no plumed helmet, no blue-white raiment;
and no jester of-old comes wish me on.
I myself am my own happy fool.

As there are no fields for me to dedragon
--impossible to kneel before ladies
and kiss their flowery gowns.
I can only walk up and down hands behind my back
dreaming dungeons and spikes and squeaking racks.

For commoners, I put things on my nose
and tip-toe with the grace of gold.
For those I love I sit sad by stained glass
--all my face the mystery of some joke.
And for God I am ready with a mouthful of penguins.

I lock myself away!
I wash myrtle-birds in the sink.
Yes, I myself am my own happy fool
--stale with dreamless jokes.

Do I care? Yes I care. I want to make laugh.
O if only I were a winding toy
or just a winter bunny
            in a huge imbecile's pie.

I know laughter! I know lots of laughter!
Yet all I do is walk up and down hands behind back
dreaming dungeons spikes and squeaking racks.