cue dramatic flourish

spotlight centers on curtain

out comes the shambling form of the idiot poet

hands extended to crowd, open wound on chest, heart on fire on stool beside him

no applause greets him

he bows and blood spills out

promptly he slips and lands on his rear

roaring laughter

slipping and sliding he finally regains his feet

a microphone slowly descends from the rafters in front of him

he stutters and mumbles into it, a pathetic whimper, another rambling stanza to the one who doesn’t have any interest

the crowd understands her feelings

crickets greet him as he finally finishes

an awkward bow and he blows out the flames, stuffs the heart back into the gaping hole

as he shuffles off stage he is struck in the back by a tomato

he doesn’t care

even in failure he spoke his truth

and the one he was hoping to speak to was not in attendance

as he expected

not that it matters, he is used to talking to himself

his crooked crown slipping down his forehead and blocking his view

more jester than laureate, more fool than king

the lonelieness palapable as the curtain closes behind him

finis