i was writing an epic poem
in ottava rima and was told
by a few of discerning taste
and acerbic tongue that
it was funny, and witty, and
original, but after a day
followed by many others days
of
crushing labor and a neighbor’s
barking dog and a hard on with
nowhere special to go it’s all I
can do to write like this:
a desperate poem
from a desperate man
to other desperate souls:
when the brain bleeds
the pen screeds.
Musings, Mutterings, and Condemnations 