poetic as a red nosed clown

again, the same.
looking here, looking there.
all appear to be just threadbare.
each word that i express,
never meets the newness test,
i linger and i sigh,
the words, phrases are but nigh.
should i flounder with another try
or simply lay the pen down
giving way
to posturing as a red nosed clown.

as if the classics have said it all.
giving way so that we might pause.
futility,
seemingly,
attempting, to pen as noble a cause.
mirroring expression of life and its drudgery
yet lacking in prolific imagery.
relocating, wishing to find
unadulterated sweet, sweet rhyme.
does one need a different time?
or posture as a street mime.

the essence of that mime.
so willingly, tossed but a dime
jangle, jangle, jangle
hence, flipped that small change.
rattling of a mind, seeking to rearrange.
how to overcome.
how to be not alone.
could this progress, the acquiring of a new form?
worthy, enlightened in gratitude,
of a poetic solitude,
hidden, in sequestered, sound,
judicious rhetoric becomes found,