Don'T Breathe A Word Of This

There is some infernal balancing sheet at work 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.