A moral ventriloquist creature -an orator, pompous and snide -his consciousness spotlights his instincts, yet shies to the curtain aside.
Superior garbs and locution, no time to rehearse or refrain; we play to this house of a planet,as Lears ill-intended to reign.
We play to an audience darkly -a patronage Noah bequeathed;giraffes herded all to the back rowby ushers with daggers unsheathed.
Orang-utans plump for the isle seatsand condors the balcony box,while lions are stuffed in the bleacherswith the leopard, the lynx and the fox.
We've ordered the beverages poisoned(it's cheaper that way, don't you know)and amped up the heat with pollution -hey folks, it's all part of the show!
So let them relinquish their coat-tails -we've plenty of cloak rooms for all:the furs and the pelts from the mammals;the skins from those patrons who crawl.
The show is itself a showstopper;just give us an eon or two.We're Thespis et al in the limelight;we've improvised this, our debut.
We read from a manuscript writtenby two homo sapien men;the first of a cruel evolution,the last with a spurious pen.
But what is the role of an actorto an audience shamefully dimwhen he's given the range of a master,yet left to direct at his whim?
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