Without the easy chair, I would find myself in the doghouse

after writing what I (considered a modest married man)
who completed LXVII journeys around the nearest star
satisfactorily wrote a piddling poem compared to class
A wordsmiths whatever standards determine excellency
whether inherently gifted with the ability to codify idea
lodged within an inaccessible area of gray matter versus
practicing typing extemporaneous freestyle efforts kept
stashed away like some priceless heirloom accidentally
discovered by a random cybersurfer seeking a .wav file.

At a mental impasse otherwise known
as the much dreaded writer's block
feeling under pressure linkedin
to floundering contractual obligations fast
approaching courtesy the deafening
inescapable sound of passing time an
impish grinch spoilsport
sullies sudden surge of boundless creativity right
when I shutterfly eyes for forty winks
with the missus, but sputtering will
powerful gravitation attraction
toward the bed and surrender to forsaking
storied ambition to consummate
and craft one brilliant pièce de résistance
deferred to undecided future date,
or after quaffing five hour energy drink.

Any time I feel a crest of inspiration
(even during the dead of night awash
with dark shadows,
where the outer limits
of the twilight zone extends the
edge of night) a beeline
made from easy chair or bed after thee wife kicks
me out to the computer
where restless leg syndrome seems to abate which
occasionally visibly twitches
involuntarily and described below - Restless
legs syndrome (RLS),
or Willis-Ekbom disease one common neurological
sensory disorder
characterized by an irresistible urge to move the legs, like
Tourette's Syndrome
(a nervous system disorder characterized by fu**ing
involuntary, repetitive movements
and vocalizations known as tics) usually
accompanied by uncomfortable
creeping or crawling sensations & no way
strictly limited to creepy people,
which symptoms intensify during rest or
inactivity (sitting/lying down)
in the evening or night, often causing severe
sleep disruption and daytime fatigue.

The following poem attempts to convey
how the missus threatens to divorce me
short of amputating my legs unless dog
gone prescription medication fails me.

The bane of restless leg syndrome kicks back

Minus adverse side effects
courtesy Ropinirole HCL
couple nights I did try,
albeit yours truly wanted to die,
plus also yearned tubby
among grrrrrreat full dead, no lie,
yes absent asthenia, fatigue,
and/or malaise oh my
nausea, vomiting, somnolence, dizziness,
and asthenic condition,
I woefully did decry
unconsciously kicking,
thrashing, twitching, wife kvetching
downing aforementioned medication
found me awry
beseeching psalm body
e'en the Sultan of Brunei
or sovereign from Abu Dhabi
to administer euthanasia,
I would willingly rectify
to bid good riddance and goodbye
experiencing said unpleasant reactions
listed above, hence death wish
of mine to comply
expressed modus operandi doth underlie
trawling the net whereby, to crucify
rigging (leg giddy met) i.e. legitimate
gofundme site could justify
assisted suicide recycling, reimbursing
repurposing... biodegradable cross -
guaranteeing faithful ethics to fortify
upon me rising masses will deify
an imperfectly square profane guy
skeptic at heart, unsure soul will go sky-high,
or descend into Dante's inferno,
hmm... methinks hot meal my
olfactory organ doth nasally espy
summat good cooking, therefore aye
got hearty appetite unbearable symptoms
amazingly relieved, that scare did mortify,
now get secular humanist off doggone†
lest he get cross and promises to nullify
future aery missions...
sidelining death, viz abort... fail... retry
else fans ye will need to pacify,
and martyr on your stained hands
leaving widow whose
tears unceasingly cry
without spouse to henpeck,
she cannot deny
cuz, body (mine), saintly
nicked peep pulled, tattooed
with apostolic marks
sharp nib bull she did apply.