90. A Stupid Sonnet

Verily, this sonnet be a moron
That cannot think twice upon its head
Since ev’ry bit o’ sense within it, gone!
All poetic tastes, stone dead.
Readily I degrade this sonnet
For saying nothing worthwhile in the least;
Beneath pretty wordy bonnet
Hast driven purpose simply ceased?
Truly, I wish for greater drive
Behind this pathetic cluster of lines,
So my insults are meant to force it shrive –
To confess shortcomings, accept the fines.
Yet, perhaps these failings from the start
Are due to some small failure on my part?