Ask yourself, the next time
you utter those words:

are you just another one awaiting
the Next Bad Thing to engage me
because my crazy
is your breakfast reading, my distress
your sustenance?  

I need a tankful of tears to run on,
a broken heart whose flailing pulse
powers a treadmill
that gives light —

that’s what you’re thinking, 
right?  That’s what you mean
when you say,

“Oh, buck up —
look at it this way —
you’re an artist and
it’s material.

“May you drown in material,
artist, may your splashing
churn up what we want — 

and may you starve as you create
because while we need you,
we need to keep our kids

from wanting to be you.”