1. <br />Should I breathe in laughter <br />Or just disintegrate? <br />Rooms with windows <br />Seem to have no windows; <br />The empty plants placed <br />Strategically, resemble <br />Everything upon which <br />The misfires began; <br />The role of the stars <br />And gonzo flight, <br />And the ground we ate on <br />Shabbily and happily before <br />The insanity grew like crime <br />In an oblivious hamlet. <br />Did a clown live here? One cannot say, <br />Much less me, too confused to know. <br /> <br /> <br />2. <br />Seaside inlets, nearly conscious rain. <br />Flaws wither and then rise again, like Shelley's <br /> <br />Monster running through this castle. <br />Props are on the stage; an oak chair, this hopeful <br /> <br />Rope, the man-child who sheds his own rare tears, <br />When Tiburon darkness kills our monologues, <br /> <br />Makes their deaths uproarious farces, falling <br />Flat and devoid of the typical outlook. <br /> <br />Let that rapid-fire smile save at least you, <br />Though it won't save me, as I thought it would.<br /><br />Lamont Palmer<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/95-st-thomas/
