success can come to you
if you can spin
street cred
and personal suffering
into a yarn longer
than critics
or softies
can tug for.
you could make a documentary
movie with a video 8
and a linear editing suite
about how
real
and interesting
other people find your
existence.
get it screened
in front of
some newsweekly
reporter
and you could
have a party
where all of your friends
figure skaters
and the weather
girl
will show up and drink
only half
of the free booze you
went to so much trouble
to cart all the way
from
the liquor store.

who wouldn’t want that under
their belt?
a chance, to every five
seconds
to say to your pals
and chums
'Sorry, but I simply must
speak
with the lady from
Channel 57 for
a few moments.'
then scurry off
as if your ass
had transformed
into a hybrid giant
insect with flapping
alien
buzzing
wings.