Except the jackets on the door hanger
morph into a towering man.
His cape rests on his shoulders
six-plus feet above the ground.
The three foot minion
holds the knob for support
with his focus set on my feet.
The apparitional clown
with his chalky face,
feverish grin,
and reptilian tongue waits
for their existence to be acknowledged.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Scary poem Phillip - I don't want to go into my room now! !