Do you really think Bob Dylan felt this way?

Or Bukowski?

Or Kerouac?

Or Plath?

Do you think each tiny little discrepancy?

Pressed down on them

Like succubae

Each late library book

Push

Each overdue bill

Push

Each rejected poem

Push

Each time Allen Ginsberg let the cat out

Do you think he hung at the door?

For five minutes afterwards

In case they changed their mind

And wanted to come back in.