Ha, I neglected (despite my intentions when I began writing this) to spell out why exactly I ever took up my pen/cil to write.
(sonnet #MMMMMMMCMXIV)
He asked if I've a book out (cuz tis sense), And when I said "no," like in sheer betrayl I did not care much, he knew that detail Was not much to me, eh? And thinking hence, O wherefore did I ever write? Why thence Work over-time to fund a book t'avail Ha! not the world cuz they don't care, in pale Scuse--vanity? when glory is pretense? He's got a chapbook published is't? In poor Scuse I've a pile of mouldered dreams all do But mock. Yes, marriage and a book in tour Of MY work; stanzas in the thousands too, Done up to suit my taste--none'd buy as twere 'Cept one or two friends. Laugh at me, will you?
26Apr19d
The "he" in L1 and etc is Ken Jackson, a fellow in our local poetry "club."