Laugh if you want;
lately my dreams
are all the same:
black and white and silent,
a montage of mute scenes
in which he quietly appears,
a funny little man beset
by brute absurdities, framed
by a toothbrush mustache,
bowler hat, and vagabond suit—
dressed for hapless caricature,
a disheveled angel in disguise.
He forever waddles away from me
down a lane of denuded trees,
jauntily twirling his bamboo cane,
his gray pocket watch stopped—
a cheap prop at the end of a chain.
Watch how the last scene transpires:
I stay in my cushioned seat
expecting house lights to rise.
Alone in the dead theater,
I wait for the live orchestra
to offer an accompaniment,
to set the silver screen on fire.
Nov 22, 2016
Nov 22, 2016 at 9:07 AM UTC
Laugh if you want;
lately my dreams
are all the same:
black and white and silent,
a montage of mute scenes
in which he quietly appears,
a funny little man beset
by brute absurdities, framed
by a toothbrush mustache,
bowler hat, and vagabond suit—
dressed for hapless caricature,
a disheveled angel in disguise.
He forever waddles away from me
down a lane of denuded trees,
jauntily twirling his bamboo cane,
his gray pocket watch stopped—
a cheap prop at the end of a chain.
Watch how the last scene transpires:
I stay in my cushioned seat
expecting house lights to rise.
Alone in the dead theater,
I wait for the live orchestra
to offer an accompaniment,
to set the silver screen on fire.
