You, sir, are oblivion’s heir.
I don’t know you, but what do I care!
You have hopped from my brain
Like a hare in the rain,
Dropping out of my head, like my hair.

I’m indifferent to all that you write.
I’ve the right to forget all that shite.
You recite all your fiction
In elegant diction;
You’re still just a wretched play- wright!

I don’t care if you’re Charles or Claude,
For your whole clod of oeuvre is flawed.
Please just go burn your drama,
Yes! Ev’ry last comma,
For it stinks. My eye’d rather be clawed.

So be off with your essays and lays!
You have darkened this day, of all days!
And you’ve blocked out my sun,
You enraged everyone,
Lying here, trying to laze in our leis.
~
After this harangue, the six- toed toad was towed away.
_~
May I provide these for the next writer’s sustenance?:
ATTEMPT, RESOURCE, and EQUIPOTENT