Down on Hollywood walk of fame
There are stars ascribed to celebrities
And I like a fool jumping into chase
The stars given by arm-chaired editors
Of journals far. Glory I realize
Is just like the aluminum kettle that blows once
And then tea and cake are served. How dreadful to
To taste a piece of Black Forest gateau
And then realize that there’s still a long lifeline
Of breadcrumbs to follow.
I never had a long list of things to achieve.
I wanted to be a researcher
But now I research the etymology
Of words to construct meaning
To a picture. I’m the poet that never sleeps
And insomnia is the monster
That comes to you nearing midnight
When your wife is fast asleep
And you type away a long poem
When words start to billow with fleece
And then I need to sheer the sheep
Before I can count how many there are.
Editing at midnight is such
A freaking tall order.