The rejection of Prof. Clancy and a sonnet led astray.

Inside these shoes are feet that want to blank out verse          
Boiled ulcer cook-books of newfangled gizmos sheathe          
The chick problems that are the least to fill my curse.          
Her majesty Ms. Clancy threw the dwarf-shrubbed heath          
In swirling  cyclones, whizzing turbines stirred to speed          
Converted, it dispersed in restless plug flow streams          
A  distribution faithful with the fragments screened          
To flare the worth off words, to raise blackbodied screams          
Incessant are their scintillations, powerless deed.          
This ore that floated concentrates and now it fills          
The plate to nourish scavenger boxes; there Jack          
and Jill stand window-shopping new dresses. The bills          
In green to earn with but a whim, then climb and whack.          
         
Exploring, yet to  wet the last page of this story       
Unstable fretting pastels of my inventory.    
    
(With Boadicea's blessings the meter of this piece resurrected itself, the word "newfangled" is hers as well.)