If writing WordPress poems —
And writing them, a LOT —
Was lucrative, in anyway,
I’d live out on this yacht

And keep my social distance with
A wall made out of money,
Then sail away to fairer climes,
And dine on milk-and-honey,

I would collect expensive things
Like VHS, and Beta —
And watch old MST3K
From alpha down through zeta

And suffer from ennui, at times,
While living in great ease
(I think ennui is what we call
  A privileged disease)

Yes, if these poems paid at all,
I would be rich as Croesus,
But I have never squeezed a dime
From any of

These pieces

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