An Angry Letter to the Man in the back of the Theater

patience dear friends
the journey home that never ends,
or seems to not,
will be over soon
tomorrow or not,

and a tidal wave of curious bewilderment

will fill my mind of coffee and junior mints

pressing everything forward in joint aches and pains

that the birds will never appreciate your name

or the so call things that you plan to say,

faster than a speeding bullet the migraine sets in

desperate to jolt you into aches and strains,

and you'll stretch out your arms to heaven,

and your joints will snap back in,

as the hell of your body swarms you in killer bee stings,

but don't you see the truth on the other side

the simplicity of the escape plan

good exercise and good food,

breaded cabbages that just won't do,

tomato  paste and gumbo stew,

breathed on by rotting dragons breath,

as the grand wizard utter incantations,

so astounding that they'll capture the imaginations,

of the entire world,

and so again they steal the words,

of those that said them before them.

as the shuck and devour the shark and the coward,

they will see no hope for the "nopes" that they've heard,

and in the end the men who tell the tallest tales are birds,

crows and finchs,

and bottled neck dolphins that splash in the air,

and eat the tuna.

believe me if it makes no sense, its because you are not searching hard enough,

though that too may be a bit of nonsense,

granted if the truth were easy most of us would live easier,

than the twelve angry men who slammed the doubt into everything other man who just wouldn't pout,

in desperate times the cock crows twice,

but Jesus walked on water, while you can't walk to forgive,

and you are no savior, so no don't get up,

lay in your head and feel bad for the dead,

leave it alone, after all like you said,

there's nothing you can do,

the pain is too real, you can't follow through,

after all you are you.

and the fable goes on, 

it never really ends,

to tomorrow and beyond,

as the sharks circle you,

you'll find no friends,

in the void of your mind,

as you struggle to keep time,

while never taking a step,

never snapping a finger, 

never blinking an eye.

be patient,

this only lasts a moment,

but it'll hurt like hell

till the doves pull you out.

and amen said the preacher man,

with his big book in hand,

as he slammed his head down on his pulpit,

and the sound that set forth,

cracked on the masses,

of frenzied little termites,

who built with their shit,

and even though it smelled,

they stayed all cozy,

all safe,

and all sound.