Degenerate trajectories

I wanted to be

a less caustic Kurt Vonnegut or

a less condescending Ray Bradbury

with a touch of Holly Hobbie

and maybe a smattering

of Dolly Parton.

I now drive a wagonload of Frank O’Hara

mixed with shredded Mrs. Roper,

though I’m not full-muumuu yet…

Artificial Intelligence tells me I look like

Kate Winslet or Nat King Cole

and while I wish for timeless elegance,

I rather think I’m a goldfish

not far from the final flush.

I may spend more time making shortbread

than poems, but I like to think

when you’re through with me,

you feel you’re reading spirograph art.

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