I live in a magical kingdom
Everyone in this city is an actor.
They each play an important role.
The baker is a method actor.
He wakes at 3am
and applies flour instead of makeup.
The beekeeper hides
behind his costume
and special effects.
with no experience.
I am the town crier.
I live in a tiny house
with only one room
at the bottom of a hill,
at the top of a hill,
next to a castle,
next to a beach.
Every morning I ride
a sheep into the city.
I stand in the street
and try to cry.
Sometimes it is difficult,
so I look around this beautiful city
and think about the places that make me sad.
I look at the chain hung across
the driveway at Wellington College
that I tripped over in the dark
and I think of climbing the fence,
running, and watching 127 Hours
before realising my arm was broken.
I look at the hospital
and think of my friend leaving me there,
in the same emergency room
they drove me to
after I left an empty wine bottle
and an empty pill bottle
in the alley behind the theatre.
I look at the building
where they told me
You are not a functioning member of society.
You are a terrible actor.
The only role you are fit for is town crier.
My tears tear my cheeks to shreds.
Passersby peel pieces from my face
and read the sad, secret messages.
They throw coins into my hat,
but they are only props
made of tin foil.
When it rains
my audience shrinks,
but I still cry
under the giant umbrella.
During an earthquake
I was summoned
to the giant beehive.
The queen bee
directed me to cry
for her and her alone.
I closed my eyes
and did it without thinking
of anything at all.
Outside the wind wound the clocks
and bees tied every raindrop into a bow