A professor of writing once told his class that a good project would be to write a sonnet every day for a year. It was absolutely impossible, he said, to write 365 bad sonnets in a row. I've always wondered if he was right.
Sunday, March 22, 2009
#396: Rock Star
I could have been a rock star--up on stage,
I'd bang my head and dance under the lights,
play my guitar while groupies half my age
would wrestle for the honors of my nights;
My music videos on MTV
(or youtube rather now, like everyone),
more cash than I could ever spend on me,
and my day job description: having fun;
I could have got tattoos and pierced my tongue,
and driven fancy sports cars everywhere,
sampled the newest drugs and oldest sins;
made it a game to lead astray the young,
divorced my model wife for our au pair...
Say now--why did I not do that again?
_
Labels:
Humor
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