Superstitious

Working on poems is so delicious!
But nothing ever needs to come of it.
I'm not ambitious.

My poems may well be considered vicious--
songs of a self-loving idiot--
why working on them is so delicious!

OK, what if all my wishes
came true and I was up to my ears in it--
rhyme, I mean--I'm that ambitious!

But I'm not getting all litigious,
supposing my songs get stolen by some witless
(artificial) bot, to whom everything is delicious.

And I'm done explaining that I'm not religious.
I'll die, but I already live in Paradise!
How ambitious

would it be to believe myself indigenous,
and pan-sexual to boot?
Working on poems is so delicious!
I'm superstitious!


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