my thoughts, to prosaic
for poetry today.

to many minute,
details in play.

too many red *****,
to be kept in the air.

that i must speak,
my words plainly
without, any flair.

today i must,
just plod
ever forward
with out, any fuss

and if by dint
of hard work and despair
i make the end
of the job list,
i get myself there.

only then i suppose
i may sit on my laurels
and begin to compose

but until then,
shoulder to boulder
and grinder to nose.

my thoughts to far prosaic
for frivelous and
self satisfied
wordplay, today.
to this course, i have chosen
true, i must stay....