A fanciful charmer
could pull rabbits from his ass
The bastard clown of faith
wasn't equal to the task
He could spit stars in his ashtray
& make golden streams in alleyways
but unlike the magician
his tricks were all too real.
The bastard clown of faith
could juggle nightmare's with one hand
He could saw a women clear in half
then make both pieces dance
& as a grand finale
he would freeze them in a trance
so they could serve as bookends
on a giant shelf he'd built.
& in-between , he'd lie at night
and cry from shame - from guilt.
His head would brush a bloodied strand
His toes would scrape her hip
He juggled nightmares with one hand
the other , traced her lips.
& each morning he thought he would
be forgiven his mistake
still he'd awake
soaked in her blood
the bastard clown of faith.
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