I can’t find a title, I lack that ace!

My dozes are full of rhymes,
Rhymes rhyming with the clinky wind chimes;
My scattered dreams too seek meanings,
And scowl out philosophy off gobbledygook things.
But Alas!
Once the sorcerer of weaved up thoughts,
That pleasant trans to real’ty bought…
Abruptly, Cruelly…
Do they hurl truth at my face,
I can’t do poetry, I lack that ace!

Thoughts badger mournings all day long,
Starving for air like Aladin’s gnome;
Desperate shrieks of the anxious throng,
Too crowded to pass easy off the gloom.
Suffocate my words, their endeavor and race,
I can’t do poetry, I lack that ace!

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