By working out at the pome machine each daY
Counting, listing, and composing, mumbling, “Lummox,
Dunderhead, my pome machine is so broke, woW!
Every idea I ever had seems, LuV,
Fled from my brain, off in the bayoU, in a mumU
Getting on the bus without me, abrupT,
Hightailing away, the sonnets, haikus and glosaS.
I need though, thirty days of this, altogether,
Jump-starting my way from the ghazals of IraQ,
Keeping at it through haiku, free verse, wishing for an apP
Like those that exist for other tasks, arriving at last tO