Our Man in Europe/dave delacroix/ "Yesterday's Clown."
(dedicato: Denver Joe: A compadre.)
YESTERDAY'S Clown; no tears. No money for face paint that enhanced a ZOOM, that spelt magic for a million kids, who lived in sad rooms, once soared? Or a nostalgic voice, now edged RAW in Time's advent of - perhaps? - a worthless yesterday? And PROFILE, those EYES, "a facia!", that - cinematic ally - beguiled the "Bard's", or "Willie Nelson's" words, now: DANG! -fallen on hi-tech wounds that can never be healed? Like Yesterday's Clown. The Crestfallen. All the crestfallen, worth only gossip over a Vermouth in the hyena (critics) trough's endless day; a commodity for which no-one will pay, finance, or give the lee of way, hurting in its exigency like a NASHVILLE, over-looked back alley. NO clean-up. No Resurrection, like Yesterday's Clown, the destined metamorphosis of the Damned... who line the limited imagination of the multitudes.... And SO some folks would say...
Yesterday's Clown? Only Pride. No tears. Though I, declare my own.
c 2015/davedelacroix/LORD BORGO/Pozzalo-Sicily-Italy
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