Comedy Gold

Something self-comforting, said I,
a little something to push
the blues back to Monday
where they belong,
not, as lately, following me
around.

Why not go crazy, I said.

There is that thing I cannot reach,
and there is growing old,
and they are only pieces of a puzzle
taken out
on a boring winter night.

After all,
What is the salve of the soul?
What kind of compromise are we,
conscious in a ruined temple

victims of all kind of urgencies

and schemers of the lowest order,
why, we lie

People, you are comedy gold
if only you could see
I'm not very funny anymore,
but they say I used to be.