For lack of one better word,
for lack of  two letters
sequenced correctly, I might have succeeded 
in not making this poem a cliché. I feel 
the mighty urge to make something upright,
to keep it straight from now on. Let me begin
by telling you – I don’t want 
this verse introduced wanting. Please
read it for what it’s worth. That it’s
not just about words and letters.
Let this be an attempt, a baby stepping
into a rhythm. My versified prayer
waiting with bated breath, beating.
Hoping for a slithering of syllables,
legless lines, nameless letters, and yes,
a startling of stanzas, too. Right, this poem 
has a name instead of meaning. That it’s
now beginning despite this ending.