A Poem, or Something

Jim Cash

In a black cold alley

A clown wept a moment,

Then shattered his

Laughing face

With a brick from a broken edifice.

But I have known men

Who sip tea in parlors,

And chat politely without offense,

And chuckle at some small grim joke.

A tree of night

Ooozed black blood and tears,

And a dwarf in the

Upper branches

Crouched like a toad and tried to fly.

But I have known men

Who sip tea in parlors,

And chat politely without offense,

And chuckle at some small grim joke.

A broken man

With dull white eyes

Hunched his shoulders

From a sidestreet wind,

And held out his palm to nobody there.

But I have known men

Who sip tea in parlors,

And chat politely without offense,

And chuckle at some small grim joke.

Seven dusty men

Sipped tea in a parlor;

And one slid from his chair

And died;

While the others chuckled at the small grim joke.

But I have known men

Who reach out of their skins,

And touch a shaking shoulder;

Then blow away the dust of decay

Of this dusty decaying age.