Lines Sent above a Work to Be Considered by a Reader's Theater

Go little poem.
Go sneak into each ear
and vellicate the lobe
with vowels that chime
or blow upon the drum
to make them hear,
not see
(tug eyelids shut)
the rising climb of consonants,
the echo of each rhyme.
Make lips and tongue
trace words that must evade.
Make fingers beat
to dancing feet in time
with bouncing brow
as syllables cascade.
Then, maybe,
judgment can be stalled, delayed,
conventions circumvented.
Quick!
Outrun the hasty glance
and dull the urge to grade,
before they say
"This simply can't be done."
Go, sprite!
Assure them that they needn't fear.
Release their hearts.
I'm lonely.