I meant to write a villanelle today
But somehow time just got away from me
I don’t have anything I want to say.
I cleared my garden of weeds and decay
And did Crimes Problem Sets both Six and Three,
But didn’t write a villanelle today.
I’m not inspired; nothing came my way
To spark a thought, a pondering, a key.
There isn’t anything I want to say.
And now it’s late; bedtime I must obey,
Yet this important fact won’t let me be:
I didn’t write a villanelle today!
I’d pull my hair out, but I know that they
Would ask me why I’d do such things to me,
But still there’s nothing that I want to say.
So one last thing before I go away:
Does this poem constitute mise en abîme?
I didn’t write a villanelle today,
Because there’s nothing that I want to say.