Bold, fragile and empty.
Plastic, porcelain clowns.
They cover up nothing with makeup and gowns.
Shouts startle what’s calming.
Molded, money and ties.
Selling night nothing but self-serving lies.
Loud said enough, it’ll say some more.
Two finger guns gliding backwards to the door.
Thunder, left wondering where the light went.
Thunder, left plundering care and silence.
When I left, I walked outside.
A circus alerted.
Corner, elephant, claims.
They’re building their points while he’s taking aim.
A flicker of prowess.
Brilliance blossoms and booms
its silence in the center of this room.
Colors drip through the sky,
percolate day into night.
Lightning closes its eyes,
prays for a second of silence.
Maybe, a moment away.
Thunder, pairing pigments,
lets still spill into evening’s display.
Echoing, ‘hello.’
this is your life chuck johnson 