Don'T Breathe A Word Of This
There is some infernal balancing sheet at work
by Patti Masterman
Whereby, if I start to become attached at the navel-
Want to spend every moment with my new Icon
Whether friend, lover, writer, mentor, or muse:
Immediately some noxious fume goes up into the jet stream;
It spreads out, coats the clouds; the wings of birds
Strange chemical reactions where the particles land
And the new God has to piss me off;
Shits in my new pajamas, eats the last fig...
They have to do the one thing, I know I just can't abide.
Finally I think I've got it: it's just not worth it.
If I have any plans or strange attractors-
Best to keep them to myself
Nary a whisper- not even written down-
Don't want to tell myself what my real ambitions are
For clearly I am my own worst enemy,
If the past has anything to say about it.