One of these days, I'll write 

Something besides galley proofs 

And text messages. One of 

These days, I'll sit down and 

Write something with a capital S,

Transcendental and introspective

Without a single foot of goddamn 

Iambic tetrameter in sight.

The thing is that right now I'm

Caught up in walking the dog,

Trying to remember

What's the Chesapeake Affair, cleaning

My room, trying to forget her or 

Trying to get eight consecutive hours of sleep,

Which makes it difficult to write much of

Anything besides A+! essays on the delicate

Nuances of 18th century rhetoric.

I know that I ought to wake up at

5:30-- like Sylvia Plath, I think?-- but

At the moment I'm the least bit preoccupied

With the difference quotient and

Wondering whether she ever mentions me

In conversation with her and filing my

Assignments by color.

Someday soon I'll buckle down and 

Write something. I just have to stop time

First, so don't hold your breath.