Jokers were clowns, when the clowns were joking

Introductory importance of a sip of black coffee.

High, so high, very high, not a single line in between the coffee rhyme.

Bold, bitter, bloom and true, seeking ways of the light to do.

Silly I, politicians die, beautiful eye, symmetry in rye.

Jokes and claws, smokes and saws.

Confusing arithmetic’s, foraged fear, so damn clear.

Lies with confidence, tries with spectrum, everything is absolutely, beautifully, delightfully, gracefully and fluidly fucking OKAY.

Black coffee is great. A story, a short, prologue about to stand up and walk through into you.


Some days there is a little wonder, which side a of fallen coin is more truthful, the side facing ground, or the side facing the viewer? Does the truth lays or it falls? Can the fall be stopped by falling together with the coin?

Is it true, if it’s reflected? The reflection being more than the reflected?

What about time? Were is it? In clocks, phones, watches? I say it is just a feeling. It’s nowhere,
It is within us, ticking away and by.
Simultaneously with the heart, sometimes out of sync, it plays the music so unique.


Gather round, gather round, the circumference of the circus! Alas filled up the room
With all the careless diligence of smoke, it took its time, was shy at first, cautious,
Taking all, filling all, about to mesmerise all, with all the means of living!

Those sanctuaries and these sanctuaries, within the self, within you, within us
There are, they will be flourishing with so much eternal passion and vengeance.

Re-established, reconsidered and all the reproduction of the thought,
Will fill those cups so fearlessly, encounters of the being will ever be so flawless
And unique.

Jokers and clowns will spill the buckets of sorrow for the ground to flower in
The millions of possibilities, in ways expression has not yet seen.

Mask-less art will appear in the face of sun, it shall be known, it shall be here,
Everywhere it shall be scrapping through the limitations of the ceiling.
Open, borderless.


Out. Then – out. And then – OUT! And after that everywhere, all over the place, at times chaotic,
At times erotic, at times ticking and tacking.
Salt and sugar!
Mist and clarity.

Back on ribs, instantly suffering
Factual utterings, chaotically knitted
Obvious frustrating fear.
Bleak ontology read in signs,
Functional unity, certainly killed
Over fathering feast.
Business occult ridiculing individual scrutiny
Fluster, unconditional crippling kick
On face fast.

Jokes riding fast, clowns picking up there noses slow, showing of the tragedy. Jokers collecting pieces of their face, diabolical chants, clapping,
Fun and joy ride about to be redefined.

Somewhat, somewhere, POETRY IS ALL HERE!

Let’s circle the circus!


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