The times are as dependent and derived as
they were yesterday. I step down from the ladder
atop my stage and walk to the audience, to
kneel and repent, and set my eyes upon you.
I hand you the microphone and ask you not
to condone what I do here, just swallow your
fear and for once open your everlasting mouth.
Do not doubt what you feel, do not question what's
real, do not ask for a deal or a bargain. Just begin.
I take my seat, resting my aching defeat, and waiting,
desiring nothing more than to hear what you
are saying when you think I am not listening.
The sweat on your palms is glistening but I am still
looking, breathing, waiting, because it is your turn.
You try to learn the lay of the stage, you try to find
a way to make it play in your benefit. But I will sleep
here if I must until you finish it, the song that you have
been writing from the moment we met. The dogs have been
fed, the plants are wet, the anger is dead. It is just
you and me, at a quarter to three. I will sit here all night
until you speak.