The Story Bones,
Rattling through my Brane.
Twice told tales,
Driving me to sane.
Iambic pentameter,
Rhyming diameter.A parrot could do better.
Cry freedom from these fetters!
This shite will not cease!
Words, not mine to release,
Upon my forehead they do crease.
I know I shall never find peace.
Camden, London 2010