Notebook 37 Pg 87

The Notes

Poethos Fallacy

How I envy those possessed with gift of words,
That shame my effluent, half-digested turds.
Those that spin gold yarns with ease,
Compared to this moulded half-rotted cheese.
Who rhyme and scan so properly,
Not with my awkward-squared monotonopoly.
Who assemble best words in best orders,
Unlike my garbled gibberish furores.
Who focus on the myth rule of verse,
and not my Tourettian poethic curse.
Conclude; there's something not right in my head,
My muses have quite rightly fled.

The Commentary
How I envy those possessed with gift of words,
That shame these effluent half-digested turds.
Those that spin gold yarns  etc...

My only possible defense your Honor is that I must have been very drunk when I wrote this drivel. 

Can anyone hear this man's ghost  bewailing his lost title?

What more  can I say that isn't best summed up in the words of  PC McGarry Number 452 :
                         "Oh deary, deary me."

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