Stop The Nurse Like The Monkey.

It's That Moon Again, Slung So Fat And Low In The Tropical Night, Calling Out Across A Curdled Sky And Into The Quivering Ears Of That Dear Old Voice In The Shadows, The Dark Passenger, Nestled Snug In The Backseat Of The Dodge K-car Of Dexter's Hypothetical Soul. That Rascal Moon, That Loudmouthed Leering Lucifer, Calling Down Across The Empty Sky To The Dark Hearts Of The Night Monsters Below, Calling Them Away To Their Joyful Playgrounds.

And Then More Quiet, Silence So Deep It Almost Drowned Out The Roar Of The Night Music That Pounded Away In My Secret Self.

It Revealed A Cruelty That Really Made One Wonder If The Universe Was Such A Good Idea After All.

I Had Become A Perfect Fake Human, Saying The Stupid And Pointless Things That Humans Say To Each Other All Day Long.

It Happens; Incompetence Is Rewarded More Often Than Not.