My Poor Iambic Foot

It happened on safari at the librarty as I stalked a grand sonnet I had planned to bag as a trophy, to hang on my wall. A nearby reviewer's keyboard accidentally discharged (I hope it was an accident!) Out blast a critique striking my Iambic foot It blew off my accents, and my big accented syllable. I still bleed from my verse. An alcoholic librarian sewed them back on using a Dictionary and a Thesaurus but she put the arsis and thesis in the wrong order. Ugly and painful is my Iambic foot. I can only stager through my unbalanced stanzas by using a ball-point-pen as a crutch. Now my good trochee foot is giving way from the extra weight. I walk in circles around rhythm. My structure, I fear, is unbearable and my line brakes are damaged. I fret that my poor Iambic foot will be bandaged in metaphors --- forever!