what is up with the universe?

am I to bite the hand that feeds
as I am sick of scooby snacks?
two bites may be two artful deeds
for that old hand all tenor lacks.

the critics cry: oh, heaven's light
has shone on what we've seen tonight!
(and critic's word is always right,
it's written there, in black and white.)

of course, I may well disagree
my will is mine, my will is free
but all alone, at desert's void
my will's free, and I'm unemployed.

I hug those I don't want to hug
don't bug the ones I want to bug
I think: I'm wrong, I might be wacky!
(but really I just found it tacky!)

and so I end up pondering
and later truly wondering:
is that how this is going to be?
how do you spell integrity?