In my drunken stupor last night,
I spoke to someone about my abuse.
It hit me like Thor’s hammer,
The Wizard of Oz shares more than one use.
When Toto pulled back the drapes,
the illusion was gone.
The struggle that ensued,
defines my struggle with Python.
The abused are Toto,
The Wizard is Church.
Dorothy, Scarecrow, Lion, and Tin Man,
continue to tithe to the priest at his perch.
Blindly following flawed doctrine,
not knowing they have the power to change it.
The drapes do not need any interpretation,
we struggle with Wizard and fancy gadget.
We see the Wizard for what it is,
no fire, and smoke, no thunderous voice.
No holographic image of the boogey man,
supports the men that made the wrong choice.
In black and white doggy sight,
Dorothy hasn't happened yet.
That's the problem with time and space,
Dorothy happens when she sees the threat.
Dorothy the inquisitive parishioner,
who confronts the Wizard.
Not a victim at all like me,
The tithings then are scissored.
Eventually the nutless Lion,
And the pyrophobic Scarecrow.
Will kindly ask of the tin man,
if his axe they can borrow.
Hack to the truth,
of what Peter started.
Slough off all the pedophiles,
Secret societies thwarted.
Toto steps out of rhythm to think,
Observing the church as they fumble.
He thinks without rhythm, rhyme, or meter,
He stops, and narrates for us without mumble:
Toto’s prose:
The nice lady in the bubble is God.
On one paw, she already knows that all Dorothy has to do,
is click her heels three times to get home.
instead, the poor girl endures a cruel journey,
just for grins and giggles.
On the other paw,
maybe the essence of the journey,
enriches her soul as she puts together the Yellow Brick Posse.
Either way, instant gratification ruins a good movie.
Trials and tribulations, earn rewards in the end.
The apple trees made me wet my fur.
If I had hands instead of paws,
I would have put the tin man’s axe to them.
Those flying monkeys were a trip.
These freaky moments represent our trauma and betrayal,
at the hands of the green faced clergyman on the broom.
Dorothy and I share a strange connection,
She’s on the inside, I’m on the outside.
Toto’s close:
I've ricocheted off the point just a bit,
I'll be drunk in a slight.
That will suffice for my mental red shoes.
At least for a while, tonight.
