(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, meanwhile aye fling
haphazardly, indiscriminately,
     and jocosely blitz

krieg feebly attempting
     to contrive ingenious 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 ***** loser

     forever doth taint
after this moment
     (no need tubby saint
lee and suppress any quaint
gut wrenching 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 by burrs)
nonetheless, which ambition
     dust hanker mink thinks furs,
and foremost (Tom
     morrow i.e. purrs
sues tha owl mighty,

    where fame posthumously spurs
     me amidst pantheon
     of great writers
which dream dashed
     into a million,

     (no...no...no...not
     bajillion this instance,
     though good guess) pieces
abysmal silence replacing
     (palimpsest like),
     mine over imagination whirs.