[Enter Pompo in front of curtain. Pompo appears quite similar to Carl but is wearing a shirt with the word Pompo on it and a cartoon version of his face, which somehow exaggerates his features to be unlike Carl's.]
Pompo: What if I am merely language? "I am merely" [Pompo makes air-quotes around these spoken words.] are just words. Just words, just words, the meanings abound. Which is the point of language. Meaning without certainty, a lack of fidelity. Adrienne Rich, yo Adrian [Pompo attempts a poor Sylvester Stallone accent], once wrote in a poem, "I dreamed you were a poem,/[Pompo makes a slash mark with his arm to symbolize the line break.] I say, a poem I wanted to show someone..." And you want to show people poetry because you want to see what they make of it... As in they make it, just as you did, only different. The sentence before in the poem, "You've kissed my hair/[Pompo runs his hands over his hair.] to wake me.", it becomes more important later. Did you know there was an Adrianne as Wonder Woman? Or what makes her Wonder Woman? Does she need a reader, a viewer, an observer? See, when we get away from language, it gets a bit more complicated! [Pompo makes an exasperated smile. He looks out into the audience and seems to focus on specific people.] You know what I mean. Adrianne Palicki played Wonder Woman in a pilot that never became a TV show. Anyway, if we were merely language, you would know that I've spoken of an A-dri-enne with two Es and two Ns, the poet, an A-dri-an, with a whole lot less letters, the girlfriend of Rocky Balboa, and finally, A-dri-anne, a combination of the two with two As and two Ns, the actress. Words, though, we are not! [Pompo looks down at his T-shirt emblazoned with his name. He once again looks out into the audience.] Are we? [He points to a person in the audience.] Do you think not? [The man in the audience stands up. He is wearing a hat and smoking a cigarette.]
Man: No. I think, therefore I am. [The Anthropologist peaks from behind the curtain.]
The Anthropologist: Oh noes, one of the writers! [He fearfully retreats back behind the camera. The smoking man approaches the stage. As he walks by an older man with a cane, he also stands, and follows the first man.]
Man 2: Such ego! It's you and only you that'll you'll ever know!
Pompo: You is a word! [There is a shimmer behind Pompo and a presence seems to form into the shape of a man. It makes as if to speak.]
Ghost: Yes, it is certainly that, but what about I?
Pompo: I is a letter. Is are hard to distinguish, when written, from lowercase Ls. And let's remember that. Adrianne, Adrian, Adrienne are not so hard to distinguish because they are more than words, more than names. [Pompo pauses as the two men approach him on the stage.] Wonder Woman is also more than words—she is not simply "wonder" or "woman" or some magical combination of the two. [The two men have passed Pompo and are pulling back a part of the curtain.]
Man 1: Okay, you old son of a bitch!
Man 2: Language! [Behind the curtain is a man at an easel. He is wearing a cheap mask with the face of H. G. Peter on it in black and white.]
Pompo: Wonder Woman is, first and foremost, not language like me—words on a page, a name on a shirt—she is art, drawing, an image! [A light shows on the easel and a drawing of Wonder Woman can be seen.] But what is lost here? That [He points at the drawing.] is Wonder Woman. Does that mean that you [He points at a random member of the audience.] are not? [He points to himself.] I am not? The words, the poetry, is made as we read it—that [pointing again to the easel] is not. And I wonder, is something lost? Behind those colors, that face, her eyes... A possibility. A potential.
Ghost: Does something die? [Visible behind the man with the easel, as Man 1 and Man 2 hold up the curtain, The Anthropologist, is running towards the stage. As he nears the curtain and enters the light showing on the easel he calls out.]
The Anthropologist: Writers, the all of them writers! (Even the ones who pretend to be artists!) [He jumps off the stage and continues running.] So many writers with their words, their directions, their commands. What's a man to do? All these words take away my choice, leaving me only one option! [He approaches an exit sign, but runs through an American flag that hangs from above the exit.] "I am nearly" are just words and I am nearly gone. [He runs out, now draped in the flag.]