Robin Williams Musing

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.