Sonnet 4

A slip of a word from the tip of my
Tongue, accursed cursings brewing in the
Depths of my mind. A hole on the page. Fie!
That I am gripped by an essential uh.
Delving between trees of leaves for words mine
Malformed Hound dwells and checks and draws a blank
And at once runs heel, and heads the fox off line,
Chasing the riot scent of quail ‘cross the bank.
Can I misconceive that this thing be alien?
Novel creature of the stars, whose meaning,
Rendered thickly Sesquipedalian,*
From my wild mind birthed into being?
Whether hunt or find, my attempts be a
Floccinaucinihilipilifia**

Photo by Laura Kapfer on Unsplash

*(of a word) polysyllabic; long

**A noun version of Floccinaucinihilipilification: the action or habit of estimating something as worthless. Used to mean “a worthless attempt.”