I went to the theater on page 118 
in a book at the end of the street.
I waited for Thespis and for the sleep 
I lost one night to return. 

I was quite ill with secrets
one in particular; a dead theory 
on the basic fire principal.
Now without spark.

I drifted off 5 times
during the last soliloquy
and then never fully woke up
Apparently having gone mad
I simply chose not to be.
My love had gone mad already. 
In the 17th century.

The theater was ablaze;
with thundering applause.
The Greek tragedy on stage 1 
was a hit with the tuxedoed elite
The English play on stage 2 
not so much with the card dealers
As I recall
It was all so clearly garbled.
And I wondered who dared 
not to love Thespis as much as I? 
Sleeping quiescently;
and no longer ill with secrets
while people stepped on my
white chinchilla fur which fell
from my shoulders
at the exact same time
the last three curtains did
The two theater ones and mine.

I was dead  and also dead boring
But I saw it all looking back.
I Just didn't give ovation for it.
© Jobé 2022