Baiting the Bozo

There you have is a voice in the night
Asking for something sound, something smooth, that which moves
A thing that tries to become a would-be sounding stage for something

It shall shatter the mold of views
When someone chooses to give it room
Taking the able bodied response
Finding the end of the trail is a gamble
Such as it was a whisper before an ebb and flow
Divisions shall falter and become like nothing
Wisps flicker form over a rising fire
It is a rigid debacle that becomes like a mannequin
A hard to stand up strawman when brought out and poked
Soon falls to the trap of blathering onward
Becoming the baited fool at the first staunch word
Work not too hard when bringing thy foul witted fiend along

Merely bait the bozo, all shall be graced, by that mark of a bloated beanbag.