A clown can’t be approached, though a clown is easy to point at.  
The clown fails professionally, for entertainment’s sake,
as I am failing now to explain whatever I mean
by this.  I am failing now.  I’m sure you

understand. I can understand why
you’d try to help at the last possible,
least useful moment.  I am failing.  Now
is the easiest time to offer, the hardest time

for it to matter. You’ll get to say 
you knew me when I wasn’t and that
you were shocked or not, whatever. 
You can show the greasepaint on your sleeves

where you tried to hug the clown.  What 
I am failing now to completely explain:
it’s not your fault you were late, of course.
Not your fault that what you saw as a hug

I saw as a last smothering.  
Listen:  I am failing now.  
What was once art is now a bad habit.
You don’t need to see this.

she caught the katy
and left me a mule to ride… 

an old blues
to filter inner noise,
to leave some echo —

weird names, slang
that makes just enough sense
to sing along with;

the idea that this story 
is my story, is
all stories:

can’t help but love
that hard headed woman of mine…