Lipstick On a Clown’s Face

The adorable lips
beneath the rubble and bricks
were those of a laughing clown,
And a stuttering tongue
And a flutter that savagely crept up and ripped words from our minds.
When they were returned-with staleness huddling within
the should-have-spokens in spent time,
They built a building destined for abandonedment,
but then placed beside it
clumps of bushes and posts and cement sidewalks
which seemed to be as clotted blood forms a scab
To someday fill it with life
Or serve as a face with a grin.

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