A Joke

A clown comes in to a classic barbershop, straight razors and all, because the circus is in town and he needs a clip.
The barber asks how the circus has been going as he preps the chair.
"Not good," replies the clown, "one of our tumbling midgets tried to commit suicide yesterday by jumping off the circus tent."
The barber says, "Just a little off the top?"

At the end of the haircut, the barber asks the clown, "Close shave?"
"No," the clown says, "he just broke both his ankles."

Poems IV, Nature

These three come from my trip to Oregon's southern coast, Humbug Mountain State Park and its hike and beach. They're more serious, and I guess traditional. Inspiration drawn from where I was.

Untitled (Beach)
King of the two black burrens, I,
On a seat of stone on the Western coast.
I jump from rock to rock as the fleas,
And sail a white driftwood cross to my transfixtion.
I could walk to you, o poor man's isles,
Or you could come crumble to me
But the surf bends his knee to no poor lord,
No vagrant of airs, unworthy.

Untitled (Trail)
Running roughshod,
unclod,
as tiny little pebbles,
giving me the devil's
share of pain
on that membrane
separating body and ground
as still I bound
just starting
and yet a new beginning,
winning
back to barefoot
on the switch back trail
of Humbug,
up and up.

Untitled (Peak)
A rainforest doesn't have to be warm-
The moisture on your clothes. Sticky of sweat from the air's heat?
or just too many layers?
The fog can roll in, not the mist.
A hundred tribes, undiscovered.
A single Bigfoot, "discovered."
Redwoods tall or canopies thick
The sound of macaws on Highway 101?
We frown at the Cars' muffled cacophony,
But Tractors buzz barbarous.
Redwood becomes lumber but more take its place.
Slash and burn fills Amazon greed.
So I have a coast
And they have a river
But the Earth owns both and holds them dear.
Pristine isn't the only serene,
But quiet swirls in with the chill-
And I am sitting contented.