blarg

..................

A poem every day
is in theory
a marvelous plan
but today is dim
and dreary
and despite
my indisputable
innate
something-or-other
sometimes this is hard.
Sometimes alliteration
slips through my fingers
like sand
my similes
are bland
my rhyme
and sense of time
are crimes
against nature.
Sometimes my attempts
at beauty
are enough to set
Shakespeare
spinning in
his grave.
Delete
delete
delete
again
key by key
what should have been
a masterpiece
erased.
Today is not
my day.