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October 7th, 2019 - 06:07 PM
They hadn’t seen anything like it
When he first appeared
Undersized, unfit, awkward, the timid type,
Black curly hair, a tiny mustache,
And the whimsical blank face of a Pierrot
Lightened by two burning charcoal
Awesome, round, sparkling, velvety eyes,
That was His speech, all together.
They hadn’t seen such a juggler,
A showman with an attitude, rather,
In his clumsy-looking suit,
His round hat and cane,
Play the buffoon so eloquently, so well-at-ease
Through the shattered mirrors of the grotesque
And exploring the saga of the banana peel
Only to become the master of the metaphoric silence. . .
He had received, at birth, more than his share
Of the Gifts and Graces of Time.
When Charlie was cooking his worn out shoe
To prepare for his delectable dinner,
We didn’t stand in awe. But then, of course,
There are shoes and there are shoes:
Shoes for a dancing party, Shoes for a Sunday mass,
And some Shoes of character,
Like the ones Vincent painted,
Not fit for the feet, but for the Soul of the misfit
To be worn on the way to Stardom.