103

He is sitting in the street at
A table outside a small cafe
With a coffee and a cigarette,
Wearing a white sports coat
And his loafers, and a cap.
Hair offwhite, skin offwhite.
He is watching a street mime.
The mime is tall, maybe six
Foot, and unnaturally thin;
The bones show at his ribs,
At his back, his neck, his
Ankles—he is a schematic.
He wears a thin polo shirt
And tights, and his face
Is white with thick tears in
Black. His eyes are black
Stars, and red at the core.

Pierrot sets the coffee down
And walks over to watch him.
He watches the slow motions
Of the mime's arms and the
Development of his figure;
He seems fluid in the air
Passing the street, as a flag,
His body loose beneath the
Fixed position of his skull.
He is morphic, deathlike.
There is an opiate smell as
Pierrot approaches; the mime
Ceases to move and his body
Loosens and his frame and
His arms and his stark face
Fall from the wooden pallet
And land in Pierrot's arms.