The 10 Days Of Gregory Corso's "Clown"

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And why do they say be a man, not a clown?
And what is it like to be a man?
I can joke like a saint for my need,
give in return for goose-leg, a glow;
I need never know this joy I grease through life
or claim on woe substantial diet.
Fat if I want to be fat!
So easy to ice one's humor
--to fan the sun.

It is time for the idiot
to pose a grin and foot on the dead lion
(the embodiment of the clownless man)--
Time to grow a mustache; suck gin;
and win the hard-to-get lady.
Time to return from star trek
and scrub the earth.

Where am I in wilderness?
What creature bore my bones to this?
Here is no Eden--this is my store:
Rooms! Rooms! Electric lights!
A giant ocean on each shore.

Am I the man to jack-in-the-box
each misfortune of man, be it sickness
death or simply an unhappiness?
That man? That old clown
           with bent hat and tubed beard?
That looney tearfully recalling
           his rainbow ball?

No! Boot the jack of clubs into devildom!
Turn somersaults in the circus-coffin!
Mr. Death has the hero by the balls!

--I can commemorate black laughter, too.