This sonnet sucks because it is hard to rhyme.
I have no idea if it's worth it
to use my ink-brain in effort and time
when there is reason to think it is shit.
This sonnet sucks; silence does surround me
the soundless, dew-wet cold pulls me toward
a million night-stars -- shakes my burdens free
how I reexamine: my faith restored.
This sonnet may suck and sitting untouched
grow mold and dust as the sun sets tonight.
Poetry readings allow unclenched
amateur writers to open up tight --
fisted, balled-up poems trying to read
sonnets and verses planted from a seed.
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