I wore the wrong socks
Always confusing my lefts, and rights and getting my hard knocks
O bollocks, what else rhymes with socks
This poem, and specifically in search of this rhyme,
I have wasted much time,
And yet it sounds so contrived
And I know not upon what meaning we have arrived
O’ F!@# it!
I be a free-verse poet
Each line tells a story,
Each line a poem unto itself
Huh, is that even a poem, I wonder?
I’m going out with a whimper, when I was going for thunder
I don’t know how to end this
This poetry business is messy
Rest in peace, Charles Bukowski