Mr. Ugly Writer Guy.

I dreamed of being Mr. Ugly Writer Guy,
who can't stop talking,
who knows it all,
And rolls his eyes if you don't agree.
Who spoils the conversation
because he can't stop talking

Who flops his dubious success,
on top the table, still alive and wet.
And waits for the chance
to gut it in front of you.
and explore its details
in all its questionable entrails.

With modesty that's plastered,
over of the wall of doubt beneath,
tasteful and gory and not yet dry,
He'll take any compliment and run
He'll ask any favor and run
He'll run from anything in return.

Mr. Ugly Writer Guy,
Who thinks he has something to say
and says it and then says it,
Who bends his will at others,
to get his way, to make the words come
to make them work, whatever else.

Mr. Ugly Writer Guy,
over takes over the mind, the body,
the mouth, the soul, for the selfish
and the higher and the lame,
but he'll try anyway, everyway
thinking it the sloppy truth.

So much effort made, for so little gain,
He drags everyone into his whirlpool,
though they slip away
looking for the magic string of words
that will make it all worthwhile for
Mr. Ugly Writer guy. 

Every once in a long while,
a few words congeal into something nice,
and Mr. Ugly Writer guy is redeemed
for a few moments he feels the glow
the flow of something good
and then it all fades, Mr. Ugly Writer guy.