Here's to Old English Roasts

To commence this utterance of six-pence nonsense 
I beseech thee graciously to read this, lackadaisically 
for it’s a crack at improvisation-impropriety:

Burnt cigarettes, politics and poetry inside of me
The aftermath of half-sobriety 
Filling me, killing me, and providing me with notoriety 
for written verse, worse, unrehearsed
a terse curse carried in by mine lexical hearse

Addictive, fricative, sibilant schwa 
Hurrah! 
I twist the wrist of the verbal God
Sonorant, consonant, obstruent law
My idiolect injects respect ripped out without flaw

Ergative, purgative, loosens the jaw, 
Verbal diarrhea is the English taught
to me, by pedagogy. Didactic and derogatory.
The professors to the pupils told it slant
Dot the T’s, the I’s you can’t. 

I thank my aunt for my infatuation
With voice-to-text and the next oration. 
Plus locution with maximal confusion
Collusion learned in a lugubrious, linguistic institution
Boo hoo!

Thought-evolution, evolving
Solving nothing but boredom
More from, discussion post-mortem. 
Ideas revolving around mine cerebrum 
before I sort ‘em to ad-nauseam 
You must applaud them. 
I now end this boast with a toast:
Here’s to the ghosts of Old English roasts.
Good writhen!