This is an experimental sonnet

There’s nothing in my head so I’ll just write

Workshop-style, until something pops in it

Or maybe I’ll just write and write, not quite

Sure of what it’s about; finish in spite

Of nothing to say. A good game to play

Well here I am, halfway through; still no sight

Of any slight meaning. They get away

With this in other art forms, so I say

Why not in this one? Why not pit my wit

(That’s singular. Not ‘wits,’ I’m not that bright)

Against the lack of muse? When music plays

It’s mainly sound; the words just have to fit

Into the structure, like I’ve done tonight…