Like a clown that drowns in the echo of laughter after the show is done,
I run through the programme always looking behind,
expecting to find something I cannot see,
but that's me.
hoping I'll cope with the ketchup of history which is listed in the programme under subsection 3b.
I always felt in two places,hence the belt and the braces,never sure of myself, wherever I went I spent time looking around,testing the ground,making excuses,checking the exits,expecting the sluice gates to open and flush me out,push me out to where history exposes the truth in the posing and posturing.
At times it is comforting to hear the mad laughter knowing that what will come after is the silence,this may be the penance I have to endure, to be in the asylum knowing there is a cure,
to drown like the clown
still unable to see,
ketchup on the pages of
my history.