Prism too

So once I saw

a visually inescapable clown,

pulling an endless string

of scarves out

from the front of his clothes.

At first

I thought he was magical.

There was a prism stream

of color pouring out of him.

His gestures

were like swim strokes

in reverse,

up this thin ever changing

colorful stream

coming out the front of him.

I knew he was drowning

from the inside out

but he was laughing

every stroke of the way.

I wanted to give him

mouth to mouth,

to fill him full of my words,

and my feelings

to set us both free.

But he was a prisoner

of his prism

that I could not

save him from

but loved.