Clownlike, happiest on your hands,
Feet to the stars, and moon-skulled,
Gilled like a fish. A common-sense
Thumbs-down on the dodo's mode.
Wrapped up in yourself like a spool,
Trawling your dark, as owls do.
Mute as a turnip from the Fourth
Of July to All Fools' Day,
O high-riser, my little loaf.
Vague as fog and looked for like mail.
Farther off than Australia.
Bent-backed Atlas, our traveled prawn.
Snug as a bud and at home
Like a sprat in a pickle jug.
A creel of eels, all ripples.
Jumpy as a Mexican bean.
Right, like a well-done sum.
A clean slate, with your own face on.
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From guest Caitlin (contact)
My ex-english teacher told me this is about her children. Almost a sequel to Metaphors You can tell from the part "my little loaf" [= -
I hate the thought of being clownlike. Probably because I hate clowns, but this made me think of someone I used to know...And it wasn't a bad memory...The last line is very good, made me think of erasing the clownlike act.
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