What the Unauthentic Man Answers

As I emerge,
I impose on friends
paintings with cheap paint
and pencil that nobody counts,
turn out thin vanity volumes.

Surrounded by sanctioned
art and real books
as I emerge and
come to the end
of my alloted days,

I hear the Writer's Guild's
official voice saying,
"we stand on guard
to shield the eyes of God."
"We all cry," is what I answer.

"We are all crying."