Pieces of Thought

I build them with pieces of thought that I’ve found without much revealing the meaning. While formless appearing they’re really quite round so I seldom send them for cleaning. They’re aren’t any chalk lines defining my field so I always swing for the bleachers. In spite or redemption, I harvest my yield, the finest I brew for my teachers. They stumble, my sonnets, my ballads take trips, my "ambics" have too many digits. While some are off honing with diamond tips I’m home building whatzits and widgets… with meaningless phrases and bits strung along... like old Dr. Seuss wrote a Bob Dylan song.