We do not fight it out
but, rather, sitlike two,
three or evenfive
wearing holey jester’s masks
and rough silk punching gloves.
Westudy each other’s faces
and think ourselvesveryskilled
intheart of concealment.
A quick, greedy snatch
seems to tell her
all that she assumes to know;
while thedownward glance ofpiety
into the other’s back
with howls of laughter.
The other Fool
is usually up at daybreak,
that, if one is carelessin handling –
may confuse and destroy.
To add to the preternatural mess,
his packrat love of urban superstitions
and wonkyconspiracy theories
ensures his arms are always busy.
The last, notable Jugglermeister
simplysits in a hard-backedchair.
He’s a lot like that pondering
The one thatthey call The Thinker?
(still, nobody knows till now
what on earthis contained
in that round, shiny headof his)
is to take turns…
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