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Poem
I can be sincere about garbage
It's no more than a gift I now see, 
A chameleon shift into fanciful riff
That has nothing to do with me.

I'm not sure just where this gift comes from
It's potential the slave of each use
It might come from heaven but still could come from hell
It reeks of the chance of abuse! 

It's probably wise to use caution
When approaching somebody like me
Apparent openness used to throw you off guard
But motives as deep as the sea! 

The sad truth's most folks are not ready, 
Cannot cope with the scope of my art, 
‘Cause their naivety's simply geared to what's grey
They are out of their depth with Descartes.

It's true I am smart (but no genius) 
But once in a seminar called ‘Sage'
A voluntary process that I enrolled in
Required me to get on the stage.
 
The challenge was quite simply stated, 
‘Just get all seated people to stand, '
The only real problem was there were so many, 
And everyone knew what I planned.

Much worse, seated folk were instructed, 
To never rise up from their chair, 
Unless wholly convinced that I was authentic, 
I was sure I had not a pray'r! 

Then I spoke and some started rising
I had only ten minutes to try, 
Of course some sat back down, but would then rise again, 
Once committed, I just would not sigh! 

‘I want to thank those who have risen! 
And you, Sir, would you please rise again? 
Ladies and Gentlemen, Please! Please remain standing! 
Please return to where you've just been.'

So I spoke my ‘truth' again and again.
Until, Oh my God, all were standing	! 
‘Why don't you see if you can make them sit back down? '
‘Try it! ' His voice was commanding.
 
The clock, he said, still had five minutes, 
Without thinking I gave it a go, 	
With just ten seconds left, the crowd was all seated, 
And I swear that's all that I know.
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