Syllables gate-crash my reverie.

Demanding form and meter they elbow

placid thoughts aside like drunken linebackers.

Resisting rhyme I close my eyes and

dream of moonlit beaches

glowing with the heat of summer love.

Reflections of starlight in a cobalt sea.

A sonnet steals into mind’s arena

seeking form and style.

Trochees and dactyls blitz the play.

My game plan falters and, sighing,

I grope for my pen.