The Mad Scientist

(I once was married to a hypothesis, but we could never get down to any concrete lovin’. she was just so damn… theoretical. maybe that’s my problem?)

The Mad Scientist

I’m throwing all my potions
into this fire, consuming
each and every recipe
I'm putting up these signs for hire:
'help wanted--alchemy';
let’s try something new or
try me on for size,
I’m your huckleberry baby so
rub my rhubarb with your
I’m a mathematical and
magical guy, and
I don’t know
what else to do.

I am the electric-spoon inventor
the obscene-neural-feedback progenitor
I’m the marvellous mirthful mystical mentor
also: landlord of Jiminy-Cricket Manor,
I’m a recently graduated
dripping liquid-lovin’ from the skies
my bunsen burner’s firing high,
but my helium voice is wheezy
give me credit, pass debentures
argh! there be photons up my pirate-sleeve—
my honey-coated protons and
bananarama neutrons
have never failed to please;

let’s stop telling each other what to do
let’s start by sayng hi

see me, Babe Ruth,
I don’t give a sweet fancy fig for couth
well I’m no moron, and I don’t sniff glue
and not to mention
the competition’s poo:
Benny Broom, ph.D, is really such a snot
(a known philosophizer)
Ms. Weathers teaches tying knots
s'no wonder she’s no flyer,
and Frederick Fallacy can't count for beans
he calculates by rote,
(he’s on a list and riding high
of enemies I wrote);

but I’d never have an honest chat
with any one of them—
I’m a hay-wire-spinning
spider-web Daedalus,
and so I’m
stuck here
mashing tragic scat into
a pair of waxen wings.

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