it is my inclination,
when there is no stipulation,
to run amok
until I’m stuck
in full-blown consternation.

my half-wit trail blazing
can leave me more than crazing.
I huff and wheeze
and groan and squeeze,
stuck in mental constipating.

I’m planning propositions
based on learned intuitions.
one good deal
would grease the wheel,
and keep me out of institutions.

if someone did the laundry
that would lessen much the quandary,
to leave more time
to make more rhyme
and go back to being bawdry.