This one is for/about a friend of mine in Sacramento. He inspired it, anyway, but it’s mostly just the picture in my head of that time.
Shot glasses and swastikas, buzz-cut and bowlered,
Trickster sits on my couch in the summer heat.
His facile tongue dances around words as casually
and as beautifully as a moth around a flame,
soaring and diving, in and out of trouble,
in and out of drama, melodrama, and foolish humor.
Taking side trips into blackest despair
before climbing back out again
to dance around the fire, laughing,
like a sacred clown.