ENTER PIERROT,
LAUGHING
dusk falls in
sepia tones
as it always does
in the vintage photographs
but pierrot is a
complex subject even so
is he laughing or
crying
will you ever
know the pinwheel effusions of his summer epochs
his heart that
sows white rosebuds
seen from the
distance you are sure his smile is real
on closer
inspection, what does he really feel
no daguerreotype
will ever reveal
is it the sun
after rain or the other way round
a hopscotch
falling to the ground
a lamentarion of
coloured chalks or in pastels
is he feeling
very well
he’s out for a
walk in infinity
with the beau
geste
and his silken
shoes on the moon’s crest
or a quaking wire…
what was it you
aspired to
a long time ago I
played La Polichinelle on the piano
no one would
believe it now
how I paint in
imagination, memory’s gallery
his mauve bright
tears
the small smile
of redacted years
his penny bright
forays…
perceptive angels,
do what you must
guard his
tremors, cherish his dust
I cannot find him.
mary angela
douglas 1 april 2021;2 april 2021;23 june 2022;24 august 2022
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