What does it feel like, to rest on your laurels?
Do you lean on the branches or sit on the leaves?
With all your advances and all your withdrawals,
are you wondering what your old master believes?

How would he measure your growth and promotion?
Why did he stop you from climbing that hill?
(You make him your target of love and devotion,
divining fulfillment from marketing skill.)

And where does it come from, this drive to be writing?
Why do I gather such nonsense to sing?
Though I can be witty, I’m more often biting,
and I still don’t know how to know anything.