the sun gently slips behind the january mountains
leaving the sky to fend for itself
against the harsh, black, moonless night
i, myself, a bystander
watch from a hill high above the oilfields
and smoke a Marlboro
gathering my makeshift thoughts
and trying to grasp some
sort of perspective of myself
sometimes i feel crowded...
that there's just one too many kooks
aboard this square yellow bus
sometimes the clown is driving
with his self-depreciating humor
but the smile he wears is painted on
he hides behind it and
sometimes I glimps it
as a single tear runs down his
white cheek
splashing harmlessly against his
grey faded lapels
at other times it is the demon
who smiles devilishly and
who delights in steering us
slightly askew
seemingly intreagued by the suffering
of others at his own gain
when he is driving
we all duck and cover
then sometimes the intellect drives
and takes us on a cultural tour
of life that surrounds us
as he feigns concern
at the plight of the less fortunate
but he knows he is just a myth
and fear will always
keep a tight reign on his thoughts
but fear doesn't ever drive
he only sits in the corner of the bus
alone
with his .357
and the rest of us wonder
when he'll snap like a twig
and just start shooting
i have amused myself
and i stamp out the cigarette
and crave beer and some crumbs of bread
