Oh, Father, where’s the Messenger?
I can endure not one day more.
They promised me the Messenger
Was knocking at the door.

His gentle words transfixed me,
And bore up the hearts of men.
He said I only need believe,
To be guiltless once again.

His empathy beguiled my soul.
My faith he did endow.
He swore that he’d return someday.
Oh, how I need him now.

Oh, Father, where’s the Messenger
I’ve pinned my hopes upon?
“He’s come and gone!” My Father laughed.
“He’s, long since, come and gone!”

“Exquisite nymph! Forgive me.
If my approach defies convention;
Your delightfully nubile aspects
Have commanded my attention.”

“May we, my darkly lovely lass,
Skip proper introduction?
I merely wish to hone my skills
In the art of cold seduction.”

“I can clearly see you’re new here;
A fresh cog in our machine
(I jump to no conclusions, dear—
Your aura smells too clean).”

“I‘ve the morals of a centaur,
And an aim as sure as death.
The witch-king cursed me a thousand times
(Not bad for a dying breath).”

“See you speak no ills of the newly dead
(A faux pas in our dark duchy;
Being dead ain’t what it used to be—
These days they're downright touchy).”

“If you wish, I’ll take you to the beach.
We’ll rent chairs and watch the slaughter
(You can’t imagine the gruesome things
That crawl out of the water).”

"We'll peruse disreputable wonders
Sure to dazzle your guileless eye.
You may earnestly state your hopes and dreams.
Later on—we'll watch them die."

“No matter, my sweet, I’ve made a list
Of all the things we’ll do.
I can assure you, with all sincerity,
I’ll enjoy them more than you.”

I have special gifts, but I'm misunderstood
(It’s whispered I’m mad as a hatter).

That's because, when I choose, I'm a wisp of smoke;
A thin tendril of tenuous matter.

Sometimes, I'm a two dimensional plane,
Like a steam-rollered cat, only flatter.

I can be a glass sphere, full of poisonous gas,
Contemplating a reason to shatter,

Or a hot detonator on a hydrogen warhead
(Think lit cherry bomb—only fatter).

Today, I'm the link between monkey and man,
I don’t know if I’ll talk or I’ll chatter.

I just know that I’m special, very special, indeed,
Because when I show up—people scatter.

The more absurd the concept,
The easier it is to see
That, forthwith, it will be taken
To a ludricous degree.

Group A will declare it—
An issue of great import.
Group B will tag it preposterous
And demand their day in court.

Group C comes to the forefront,
With inconsequential facts,
And will use them as the basis
For ad hominem attacks.

Group D calls a conference,
Claiming they have the solution,
Which will (naturally) necessitate
A violent revolution.

Then somebody sets off a bomb;
Now it’s page one news.
Panels of experts will be convened
To express their cogent views.

Disquiet and anxiety
Will sweep across the nation.
Each side blames others for everything,
From abortion to inflation.

Are we witnessing the fateful events
That will tear our world asunder?
Nah! It’s just the banal anatomy
Of the latest nine day wonder.

Are you ready for the next rung?
Have you got what it takes?
If you want the game to pay its way,
You’ve gotta raise the stakes.

Those noisy hobs inside your head?
The ones clamoring for attention?
The ones you’d happily prefer
I, kindly, didn't mention?

They don’t subsist on magic.
Rare juice fuels their abuses.
Juice you could be putting to
Much more constructive uses.

The first step is to let 'em know
You’re on to their dog-earred tricks.
The second is to brace 'em
For a trip to the ol’ deep six.

Oh, they’ll put up a fuss, all right,
Don't worry, you'll end up winning.
But don't sit on your laurels, plebe.
The fight is just beginning.