Certain decisions have been reached,
the words I hereby stitch,
in many ways, a shirt, for this new issue.

Though each morning I practiced
one of the seven habits
of the highly effective,
I fabulously failed,
I grazed on doubt,
I thought by thinking of myself infallible
my station would not fall,
forever floating like a bottled ship.

While I was an object to shower waters
I kept reshuffling words
in shifting order, then I just
spat them out and they hung
like fat nubilous drops.

Some fresh, profound statement,
like ??????hello, father.??????

Then, sitting on the floor I stared
with my mind out, I digressed
and egressed, but simply could not find
the two and two together.
A goggle-eyed rookie, rooting
for a goal.

A pantyhose-sheer, unconvinced fibber,
my jolly lilt sailed aloft in the spring air,
ridiculous like Shakespeare
on ice. Mine was to mind
rhythms and myths and now
I may have made a man.

Advise me, oh my distant friend,
as to the how of approach
to such...such.

The grammar shrinks before the referent,
it shirks the subject.

How to conciliate
the language with the topic?
To twist a tango with a given tongue,
stretch the tripwire of verbs,
significant pronouns, set my trap.

That as may be,
but I???-m about to introduce
a walking work of art.