Clown walks into police station.
Half a cheek smeared with the weight of a falling
tear. Lips stretched to a clotted moon. Drooling.
‘Can you lower your arms, sir?’
policeman says. So he pulls down his wave
and locks his palms into two shut hearts.
‘Can you take off your hair, sir?’
policeman says. So he tugs at his weaves,
leaving a skinhead in a net snare.
‘Can you clear away your face, sir?’
policeman says. So he laughs until he cries
and the white disappears.
‘Can you strip yourself bare sir?’
policeman says. So he shakes off his stripes,
unlaces a padded chest.
‘You are under arrest, sir.’
policeman says. So he zips up his lips
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