Aren't we precocious?
Aren't we smart?
Reading at three,
learning poems by heart.

Aren't we precocious?
Aren't we clever?
Writing stories at six,
what an endeavor.

Aren't we precocious?
Aren't we sharp?
Staging plays at nine,
a bit of a lark.

Aren't we precocious?
Aren't we keen?
Making movies at twelve,
blocking out scenes.

Aren't we precocious?
Aren't we the bomb?
Multitasking at sixteen,
skipping the prom.

Aren't we precocious?
Aren't we a lock?
Making bundles at twenty,
buying houses and stock.

Aren't we precocious?
Aren't we the ****?
Rich as Midas at thirty
getting high, getting lit.

Aren't we precocious?
Aren't we sick?
Bankrupt at forty,
we're losing our schtick.

Aren't we precocious?
But where is our head?
Not even fifty
we're spent, then we're dead.

It's only fun if your really smart
and, even then, you better watch out

One of the flunkies
at the journal/review
will glance at your submission
just to say he did,
reflexively hit the REJECT key,

Direct your 3 or, worse, 5 dollar
bribe into the coffers
and think to himself SUCKER.

Just took my third dump of the day
and I'm tired of wiping
but I'm too lazy to take a shower
so I'll have to take my chances out
in the Big Wide World

Which means taking my heart medication,
which means obeying traffic laws,
which means being extra careful
crossing the street, which means
not antagonizing the cops or the homeless

But if I get struck by lightning
or hit by a meteorite or a stray bullet
or attacked by a grizzly bear
chances are I'll **** my pants
anyway which makes worrying
about it at all kind of pointless

Not a thought did I think
Not a word did I write
No tea did I drink
Not a foe did I fight

Not a mile did I walk
Not a page did I link
No door did I read
Not a putt did I sink

Not a patch did I ****
Not a meal did I make
No book did I read
Not a meme did I fake

Yet here I am, here I sit
Excuse me while I throw a fit

Start with a little girl's muddy drawers,
toss in some dialect, stir in some Shakespeare

Add the bellowing of an intellectually challenged man

Add a suicidal sibling, a sassy young black boy,
a dose of Southern ambience and wallah

You're William Faulkner

Mirror, mirror on the wall
who's the most wicked of them all?

Putin.