The Professor of Philosophy with sad black holes in his head

riffs the collective consciousness in the Cafe of Hopeful Poets
she is negatively charged her hair writhes she is smoking

seething she reefs in her bitter tongue with the house red
pulled from the parallel universe in his briefcase with

a glittering eye reads the obscene version of her poem
he has run mad the madness that needs to know your secrets

tripped and fallen into Not Being Able To Stop Hearing Hell
find the trick of it it tricks lamentably
can end up on your knees screaming down the wire

blue bruised knees cold static stitching at your ear
not all the voices tell the truth or can be understood

into the Roger Over and Out steps God Knows What
God Knows Who some nasty bit of goods with sticky hands

who steals you from yourself ever been had for possession of
the Translator with the Wicked Tongue
the safety curtain flies and you are on stage shouting FIRE!

in a crowded theatre the muse may choose not to descend
she has the right words fly out your mouth thoughts fly out your head
the Translator rolls his eyes back whispers what is too ridiculous to believe

and the trapdoor opens in the stage beneath him for the Devil to disappear.