Amphigory

My pen was shaking.
I sensed its fear.
My head was aching,
and so was my rear.
But here lay a wondrous word
that captured all things absurd.

I knew in that moment,
that brief space of time,
that my pen I would torment
as I commit literary crime.
For here was a glorious term
embodying purple wheat germ.

And so the ink did flow
and the paper screamed.
As I watched my poem grow
my laughter slept and dreamed.
Still I had a word snarky and light
that I was keen to use in any old fight.

When I was done, my pen spent,
I sighed, and I think a little of me died.
I watched as my mind clearly went
and, with my blessing, gleefully fried.
I stand corrected about this word,
for poetry, it's much too absurd.