this is a filler sonnet. it has little
life its own, is meant to wedge in between
poems in a collection — for you, dear
reader, because at this point you’re inun-
dated with poetry and likely not
paying close attention, and not every
verse can be a work of genius, even
from a writer of great talent or skill.

it’s not my fault I’m a silly waste of rhyme;
a lazy toss off from a poet off
his game — had he compassion for his works,
his creatures, he might take a bit more time,
a bit more care to craft me into something
to catch your fancy and endear me to you.

dmpitchford