The poet pauses to reflect and think
(and blame the poet Yaasky; and to drink)
I’ve written so much poetry in form
since late December (some of which I’ll tweet)
that I’ve forgotten how to think my thoughts
unless they’re built on five iambic feet.
I’m not sure what to make of this new skill…
it could be both a blessing and a curse:
the world becomes a strange new place to live
when each and ev’ry thought crops up in verse.