(yes...yes...
yes, this rhyme
resembles
a recent
one of mine
from a
previous time,
yet
appropriating
wands zone writing
haint no crime -
at least not yet!)
Okay bull
heave me you,
at this moment
alm completely
unaware what
the a muse zing
genie of poetic
inspiration
will bring
possibly shelving
what Calliope
holds in
store for me,
meanwhile now
with impatience
it ching
visa vis
to discover
what this
Earthling,
(albeit modest)
will be amazingly
graced with
pizazz, mean
while aye fling
haphazardly,
indiscriminately,
and jocosely blitz
krieg feebly
attempting
to contrive
ingeniousness emits
poetic
prestidigitation
in fits
and starts,
sans "FAKE" wits
as this humble
human
imperceptibly
orbitz
around
mister Sun,
(which about
bajillion years
from now
suddenly quits)
shining
foisting misery,
where
Nyx knocks
(paddy
whack give
my dog
a bone...)
divinely,
knowingly
and spiritedly
visits (believe
me you)
this trumpeting
stupid
moron loser
forever
doth taint
after
this moment
(no need
tubby saint
lee and
suppress
any quaint
gut wren
ching chortle)
at what aint
no farce),
nor literary feint
yours
truly painfully,
sorrowfully,
and verily avers,
he now
lacks fire
and fury
(as if nettled
and docked
by burrs)
nonetheless,
which ambition
dust hanker
mink thinks furs,
and fore
most (Tom
morrow
i.e. purrs
sues tha
owl mighty,
where fame
posthumously
spurs me
amidst pantheon
of great writers
which
ream dashed
into a million,
(no...no...
no...not
bajillion
this instance,
though good
guess) pieces
abysmal
silence
replacing
(palimpsest like),
mine over
imagination whirs.