1.
Should I breathe in laughter
Or just disintegrate?
Rooms with windows
Seem to have no windows;
The empty plants placed
Strategically, resemble
Everything upon which
The misfires began;
The role of the stars
And gonzo flight,
And the ground we ate on
Shabbily and happily before
The insanity grew like crime
In an oblivious hamlet.
Did a clown live here? One cannot say,
Much less me, too confused to know.


2.
Seaside inlets, nearly conscious rain.
Flaws wither and then rise again, like Shelley's

Monster running through this castle.
Props are on the stage; an oak chair, this hopeful

Rope, the man-child who sheds his own rare tears,
When Tiburon darkness kills our monologues,

Makes their deaths uproarious farces, falling
Flat and devoid of the typical outlook.

Let that rapid-fire smile save at least you,
Though it won't save me, as I thought it would.

Lamont Palmer

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/95-st-thomas/