Fifteen Line Sonnet

I’m in a place of complacency.
The hotel of my mind reads “vacancy.”
The words of my mouth leave wastefully,
They have no direction, stuck in vagrancy.

I sat in my office for an hour today,
Asking, what will my poems say?
I sat there, with no thought to prey.
There was nothing I cared to convey.

I’ve set a standard already.
Two weeks, of going steady.
These last two days, unsteady.
No content worth a make-ready.

So I will make a sonnet, not of love,
And with no resolution.
With fifteen lines.

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