the stand-up comedian had
to replace the poet:
in the western-lands...

after all... the western-land
comedian was never,
ever, to succumb to
the eastern frenzy of cabaret...

comedy as... dialogue?!
comedy, not as... a monologue?

to speak freely...
versus... to speak in rhyme...
with all those exasperations
of punctuation -
god help me, eem dying!
faking both a heart attack
and a prized profile
of all those: lookey lookey
holiday snaps...

the poet is having
a fucking asthmatic attack
from all those puncuated
exasperations...

the western comic thinks it crass
to settle for a cabaret...
so he goes solo...
the comic monologue is...
akin to a shining beacon of hope
in a sea of despair...

try to imagine it otherwise!
a comedian prances
in his monologue...
a bit like that clown who
shouted fire! in a crowded theatre...
before him...
a languishing sea of laughing
despairs...
he's the last fucking rat off the
boat...
he can tell a joke or two...

he can be napoleon bonaparte
in a squirm of the basic arithmetic of time
coinciding with testing
a the logivity of a clock
with a bottle of WD-40...

perhaps a poet... in ancient greece...
or on the bookshelves of ancient
rome...
now? the comedian...
everything is kung fu fucking comical
these days...
less rhyme: more truth...
more truth: more cages...
the driving role of despair is knowing
the realities of what you can't escape!
a comedian will do that...
he'll tell you a joke about a leech...

try to imagine comedy without
the western concept of stand-up
monologues...
via a cabaret dialogue...
who is a poet and who isn't made
to feel "suddenly" made...
redundant?

the poet is expected to say something profound...
a comedian? a comedian says something
profound as an afterthought...
the art of spontaneity...
a comedian will always something
profound, because he wills it as something
not worth thinking...
a poet will think of something...
needless to say...
it doesn't require the thought "thing"
to have to have it being "subsequently" said...

i can clearly see a meteor when it comes...
audience... oh my dear god an audience!
murmurs and shadows are just about
the sort of audience these words demand...

20th century's last grasp of poetics...
afterwards? dinosaur studies...
the people want comedy monologues...
all this current exasperation to find rhyme?
it will not help...
people want comedy...
and not comedy akin to a theatre + dialogue...
they want monologue comedy...
of arriving at a meditation to counter
buddhism... they want...
meditation brimming with verbiage
overt wording...
they want... fucking rainbows
and unicorns! they want a tool to drown out
the urban sound of traffic...
a sound of a croaking crow scars as it scares them!

if poets think that everything they cite
is worth... an overtly punctuacted pause
to: "appreciate" a profound message?
a comic in a monologue will disarm them
with a flick of an ON / OFF swtich...

when poetry takes itself too seriously...
and they will want comedy over
this dinosaur revelation of: poo' poo' me...
then again...
if i really cared about pleasing an audience...
i'd be on a stage...
and not... in these dungeons of
reliquary -
salvaging what must be salvaged
beside the beached whale
or the flaming amazon...

such pitiable flames of scorn,
mingling with such demanding quests
of... dancing the fickle dance
of rot...
the people have spoken!
they want! the blatant truth!
they want to be spoken a most
blatant reality: assured that they!
can't escape it!
they want to be told the horror!
and the salvation of a cage!
they want both the horror - and the cage!

once upon a time a comedy would
require a dialogue -
a cabaret...
now... comedy has replaced
poetry as the grand chow mein master
of monologue...
what of tragedy and theatre,

video games are the gangrene
mist suffocating chess pieces.