You can stain the glass all you want,
but what you’ll get is still a house of horrors-
just draped in colors.
And I will be the clown
with buckling joints under the technicolor spotlight,
performing.
I will abide by every conviction
and dance inside the lines.
I will dance until the ball on my nose rolls under the pews of the twiddled feet of a cult-
of watchers entranced by my shameful buffoonery.
You’ll send your men to chase the red streak it leaves behind.
I’ll watch as they flounder and laugh.
And when my nose reaches the door, it will feel for the first time the freedom of unfiltered sunlight.
Who’s the clown now?