You are alone. No one will understand.
No one will ever know what you have done
Or ever read a word that you have written.
When you are gone, your work will be forgotten
And every sign that you have lived will fade.
I say: Hmmm. Let me think. Yep,
That sounds right. I expect nothing
Less than complete oblivion. In fact, I’m
Counting on it. My work is mine, not yours.
Ha ha. So there. The world pauses, thinking.
Then says. Hmmm. Perhaps I was too hasty.
I say: Available through your local bookstore.