Poems I Shan't Write

In my troubled mind tumbled words,
confused, babbled and absurd.
How my fingers itched and my mind craved
to dig for each a pale paper grave.
But the ink rebelled and jerked and screamed
and yelled that words are life and not dream.
Then I saw scrawled in my path
the adverbs and nouns of evil math.
"Ode to Jock Itch" I have penned
worse still, for I have sinned;
I have written "The Bathroom Life of Men".
And stopped not there, not even when
I wrote the stinking sonnet,
"Ants in my pants, a bee in my bonnet."
And worse to worst, evil to wrong,
I penned the dark humor "Toilet Paper Song!"
So with shaking hand and hanging head,
I burned my poems and went to bed.