the fame machine

The fame machines

He found his old type-writer in the basement
took it up and tried to clean the typeface
On a day he felt like a writer dreaming of fame
hammering out a novel in a cloud of cigarette
smoke and whisky at his side
The aber was, he didn’t smoke and had no tolerance
for whisky; when he did drink, he always ended up
drinking the whole bottle
relaying on his friends in the A. A to come and
take him to a meeting.
He recently bought a computer, a big, black thing
he hardly knew how to handle, nevertheless, it was
going to make him instantly famous
No words came
In the evening, nervous about drinking too much coffee
he wrote a poem “the red necktie.”