Fringe Theatre
By paborama
Thu, 03 Aug 2017
- 537 reads
1 comments
Clowns, boiling over
Trailing banners and fliers and death
Clowns, comin’ atcha!
Smiling the moment you recoil from their breath
Recoiling the boy held the hand of the man who
Would later sell him the tickets
Comics, staring navelly
Stabbing the front row in the face with their spite
Comics, in the basement
Drinking their piss down away from the light
Away from the laughter the girl hides her pain
That the man on the stage is her intended
Actors, going nowhere
Fucking their friends so they feed on the fear
Actors, walking the plank
Honing their craft with an eye on their Lear
Eyeing the security guard, Ryan filches the vodka
His bench will be warm this Midsummer's Night
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