Argh... dog dam mutt

(boot exhausted tending Milan Collie)

If only father time could... but

yea right Matthew Scott cut

your losses, accompanied

with sinking feeling in gut

ready to vent off steam

start fire next time and burn

(billy me I merrily Joel King),

down house i.e. mancave hut...,

in tot, while yours truly emulates

one among many talking heads

with tongue doth jut

out mouth making nasty facial feature

at reflection nut

tin much else

except, perhaps try to put

gear into overdrive any

remembered magmatic

lava lee fragments

to pull this mad man

out of figurative rut

nothing gainsaid verbally taunting self

with expletive epithet

more colorful than tut...tut... tut.

Chalk permanent heart wrenching

pinteresting kindling horrifying

devastating loss regarding

opus magnus extremely cross

at yours truly, nope no ace

in the hole, hence best bet to

down bottle of tranquilizers

with swig flask of booze to brace

transcending after life netherland,

where angels plucking harps

magically can exorcise

Manhattan goose stepping

quite pheasant hunched mountebank

Norte worthy dame

giving bankable chase

courtesy cloistered chaste

siren of Titan (on the

order of Mrs. Doubtfire)

hoop fully abducts me than

willingly, meticulously,

and compliantly doth erase

every vestige of writings.

Thoroughly cooked duck, dogged

dully dilly dallying gent

realized errors of

his ways, where bent

crooked right hand pinky the chief

hankering provocateur leant

admission (for one adult) cogent

tam o shanter donning Brit with scent

tum mental affectation unable to console

yours truly, whose feeble

effort non poetic event

merely hoped to muster

even lame to assuage

smoldering ire, wherever

sense and sensibility

plus pride and prejudice went.