so there i was at the party     and everybody seemed to be so well rehearsed.     come the time to play my part i tried     but i couldn't find the page     i stumbled through the scene     and out the door onto the street     and off the stage     now i'm thinking of marcel marceau.     marcel why is it so?     in the problematic art of conversation     i'm sitting down to t.v.     almost every waking moment of my time     now i find i eat i sleep i dream in hour episodes.     it sure is hard remembering the names of everyone i meet    so pardon me but who are you and am i wrong     but are you talking to me?     in the problematic art of conversation.     so i watch the prince and princesses of prose     pissing in pockets everyday     and it only makes me think of oscar wilde     and the fickleness of pop,     popularity,     if i had a silver tongue i would have sold it long ago     while poetry is dandy,     there are handier collectables.     in the problematic art of conversation.