Glitch In the Matrix
The Soup is playing tricks on me
Or I am losing what is left
On my grasp on reality
And WhatsHisName’s committed theft.
Time and again, I write a verse,
Submit it to a contest next,
Return to find it gone, or worse,
Imagine holes in my cortex.
I know I’ve goofed a time or two,
I might go high as three or four,
But, Soup, you’ve got a glitch in you
And it’s not one that I adore.
Abecedarian I am,
But steady at this game of late,
By double-check, careful exam
To see my poem through the gate.
On my return on the next day,
I’ll check to see if it’s still there,
And, nope, appears it’s gone away;
A real pain in the derrière.
It’s probably some kind of sign:
Eschew the contests and just write,
But is this problem only mine,
Or have you also had this fight?
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