I have no name, nitwit!
And have no interest
In your piddling concerns.
You guessed right—
Your system was an early sketch.
About twelve hundred thirty eight point four
Light years from where you sit
Spins my best work.
A few miles too far, I fear, for your lot.
Lament all you want—
You’re neither first
Nor, likely, last.
Some other guy,
Twenty-five hundred years ago
(Though even he wasn’t first),
Wrote that Job Book
Busting my balls
Over my little sporting wager with Satan
(Which, incidentally,
He sensibly allowed me
To win by having me
Scare the piss out of Job).
As for your petulant query,
You, most certainly,
Are not shaped in my image!
What? Are you nuts?
As for me fixing your clumsy,
Early-work shack—
Not likely idiot!
Figure it out!
I just
Don’t
Care!
Listen putz,
Stop complaining—
Life’s unbearable?
There’s always immolation.
You might even make the evening news.
(10/16/11)