When they call me 'prolific' I hear '****'.
churning out product like it costs me
nothing but a little time and a wince of
entrance pain that fades away.
doing it all for the quick gratification
of seeing yet another something by me me me.
I'm so full of poems I propagate like
my fertile little weeping pine, she's
probably a *****, too, but
that's her job and I'm doing this for free.
I've got less self-worth than a tree.