Holiday Jester Blus

a poem by Ash sarge, USA

I am the Holiday Jester,
Tis, no season,
I'm ignored,
Little clown,
Do not tempt me...
I'm getting bored,
I long for mayhem,
I long for the applause,
Oh please do,
Keep being you,
Till I find thing's to improve..
The pretty bows are faded,
The paint, has too much lead,
The suit shoulda,
Been shredded, in 1922.
Oh, is it angry,
Isn't your color.
Heres a fork and socket,
Really frizz that hair.
Heres a paint bucket,
Acid is lead free.
Black leather,
From a freshly died cow,
And platform shoes,
Gosh they trip,
But your width you will loose.
Sparkles and glitter,
Are really what is in,
Heres a couple bottle rockets,
To put where you've done,
Your thinking.
Scotch, without the rocks,
Horses to race,
Toss me your keys,
Cars and four running legs,
Are not the same..
I Am the Holiday Jester,
Heres a bag, play Halloween,
Get me some treats,
While I think.

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