For not wanting much else

But cake from Gloria’s 

On Sterling and Nostrand

That takes on a life of its 

Own disaster and talking and talking

About writing a poem that has no chance

Of getting published

Or written, but it’s not a fast whim

It’s an article in the New Yorker 

Or on Jezebel, but it can’t be assumed

That your ass is bigger than your blog

So is it even a serious question that 

It might just be pointless? 

It’s not okay to reconcile

Your laziest habits with fear

Neither rest nor reproachment

Will enhance the truth

That you’re just not good at PR

And if your agent contacts me again

With any more sob stories about break ups 

And self-sabotaging tendencies I swear I’ll 

Suffocate your image in half and turn your 

Poem upside down.