Trapped In The Lecture Poem by Alan Bruce Thompson

I attend lectures to bathe in the enlightened light,
Sometimes we sit late, well into the night.

Is this speaker mad? Does he tell the truth?
Is he stimulated by powder, by smoke, or vermouth?

I've heard this before, it still doesn't make sense,
More of the same, more confusion, very dense.

Does the mumbling mean he doesn't know what to say?
He's being doing this for hours, practically the whole day.

It's a pity we must wait hours through this whine,
I assume that it's his chaos not mine.

We're polite, we listen, we assume it's we who are lost,
The poor audience is trapped and must pay the cost.