Why Sonnets

Reckoned I’d write a bit o’ rhymin’ in the cowboy vein; it slipped outta my lasso and I couldn’t take the rein. So then I tries my hand at rap But, white as sand, pheel like a sap An’, like debates Republicanned, it was all a bunch a cr*p. Freely versed New Yorkers’ obfuscated, seasonal frame; still the acorn froze despite the early thaw that sighed through the Alphabet Jungle. Minimalism sucked. Haiku too proved too easily misunderstood, or pretty petty. Couldn’t Conquer Complete Concrete. Acrostic Couldn’t Really Offer Something That I Cherished.