In Which... In Which... In Which...

My last day ere vacation's finally here,
And really, it could not have come too soon.
Already I can taste the good stout beer
I'll quaff with Laroquod that afternoon
Three days hence. Now, my head a-spin with plans
And trying to catch up the time I lost
In dealing with some other crap -- these spans
Of time I've wished away I'd now accost
And put to sterner purpose, if I could.
I'm still not packed and would keep having dreams
In which I've left my passport home. Not good!
But such is ever my state when it seems
I'm soon to be a-traveling. My head
Has done the work my body now must dread.
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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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