Merge your inner and outer clowns,
one clown for all seasons,
for ’tis all about clownin’ around.

When people begin to stare,
simply laugh maniacally,
For thou art having more fun than they.

We shall go disco gogo Christmas caroling in May.
There will be coin operated bronc riding in full regalia.
Midnight pogo stick races in the church parking lot.
Random afternoon flights to random destinations in a private plane.

These are those moments that make life so enchanting.
There is magic in fun, and this magic makes life momentous.

Come, soar on clown wings, and remember:
Normalcy is boring, bland, and just plain wrong.
Never be normal – just keep clownin’ around.

Sittin’ still, watchin’ the world,
Protecting the peace,
Leaving the mammals lives to not cease,
Speak with wonder ’bout that hippie girl.

Making sense of the inner soul,
On a wayward journey to help all,
Normalcy is a big no go,
To hell with that there status quo,
Got a wicked crush on that hippie girl.

Where this river flows if the ebb and tide
of a high that only the rooster
crows at morning light –

A light lost upon the souls that have forgotten,
a petal alight upon the brisk waters
of a river lost in the wandering realm.

Within a dozen sparkling rainbows,
set to a tone that only beckons
to those that know -
A hidden knowledge contained in a
million waves upon the surface of the
red rocks uplifted for the sands below.

This here I wander, in love but alone –
nowhere to go, a river dammed
and held – wanting to flow endlessly to thee.

This mythical, magical place,
a temporal vision of that most wonderful love,
peace beyond human comprehension…
This realm, a kingdom of stark embraces,
that which can only come with a transference of being.

Rekindling a deep, thoroughbred passion,
dancing to a soulful rhythm conjured upon itself,
see this ancient place for the thing it is,
a home to be held, caressed, protected.

It’s a road not traveled,
And one not likely soon to be,
But it’s an enticing road,
That stretches long beyond the horizon.

There’s that smile,
The one that brightens any room,
The one that stirs the curiosity,
And makes one long for a return to a life of lore.

Wanting, but held fast by the daunting,
Rigid, mesmerized, sinking into that wonderfulness,
Connected at yet another moment in time,
Only to be shattered by the approach of another.

A mission – to create those moments,
To generate that electrifying stillness in time,
To willfully embrace the abyss.

The times that teach us the most,
The precious peach to which we cling,
Always there,
Ever present,
Forever tempting,
Never attainable.

The splash of dazzling brilliance against the darkness,
The smooth flow of that last drink through the ethereal passages,
Always something better,
A knight shining brighter.

With a wicked scorn,
And a feeling of not just loss,
but betrayal bourne on the wind,
A leopard dancing under the moonlight,
Flecks of quartzite whispering to the evening pines.

Within these moments,
The pines stand still,
And beckon forth a most momentous tune.

They ask but the littlest of things,
And to embrace their glory takes no more than a moment.
But in those moments,
The claws tear at the fleshy innards,
Exposing the metallic bits to the world to see.

Where within these erroneous metaphors does truth lie?
And where within the twisted vines of chaos does happiness begin, and the sadness end?

The glorious pines, weeping their sap,
The cuddling embrace of a thousand branches,
Wherefore for thou in the morn will this torture end?