Today I tried, but could not write a sonnet. The day was not a total loss.
I found the perfect line for me.
My business card will read:
Poetry recycling – free
Send me your wretched, cast-off lines
your ragged rhythms yearning to be read
the crumpled output of your tired mind
Send me your mixed-up metaphors and stressed-out sonnets
Send them to me.
My shredder waits beside the basement door.
There, reduced to pithy shards,
Your verse re-born as greeting cards