In Which I Am Editing

This sonnet-writing's tightened up my prose,
Which was a goal I had back at the start.
I cherish this but now I've got my nose
Deep in a slash-and-burn, I find my heart
Just wants to break; I have to cut much more
Of what I thought already nice and lean.
I've got more notion, though, of what it's for,
These words and thoughts, but still I think it's mean
To hack and cut as I must do. I tell
Myself the final product then will shine
The brighter, but right now a kind of hell
Or something near it surely, is all mine.
And deadlines, self-imposed or even not
Just make this seat of mine a little hot!
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