Words are flying out, eyes
Red with strain, I have a paper must
Do quickly or won’t pass
(Get zip—that’s fail!). The topic’s runic verse.
Due tomorrow, ain’t no joy,
Adrift am I in Nordic rhyme.
So guessing is depressing me.

∩φΔ λ⎞Ï'ℵ ψσω∉ ΩΜ
Mutt’ring at the ranging swirls,
Mutt’ring at the deranged curls,
Mumbling as I ’rrange the curls,
Tumbling from my pate, unfurled.

Images of strokes and lines twitch,
Dance before my tired vermillion eyes
That bawl; I can’t go on; my topic’s runic verse.
Thoughts meander as I
Wrestle with this pseudo-letter pox.
I grumble drily as
I take a great big shot of booze and curse.

∩φΔ λ⎞Ï'ℵ ψσω∉ ΩΜ
Mutt’ring at the ranging swirls,
Mutt’ring at the deranged curls,
Mumbling as a taste I swirl. . .
Tumbler bathed in liquid pearls.

Rounds I’m quaffing, tastes of rye
I’m drinking then I open beers—
Imbibing during scribing spree.
Limitless rum, rye, then drunk, sick,
I sure will not get this scribbling done.
I fall—the floor I’m on, a sot who’s work-averse.

$%%@#&^*&(&%^
Mumbling as I drain the pearls,
Tumbling down the drain in swirls,
Stumbling as I traipse, floor-hurled,
Bubbling as I taste the hurl.

I did spew dinner,
I, student, finished.