Middle finger of uncertainty

[magtelt]

I told myself: you shall not rhyme
You're not a poet, you're a joke
A bad one like your stumbling line
The wrath of muses you invoke;

Erato would have cracked your head
With her guitar - or was it lyre?
Well, anyway, your rotten verse
Is nothing muses would inspire.

The language hurls you like a storm
It's not a river you can swim
You have no ship, no sails, no skill
Hold nothing but a foolish dream

You can't be normal, that is clear
At least haiku is lesser crime -
Compose, show no one, be discreet
And God forbid you ever rhyme.