Steam from an engine is rising
masking a frothy dark umber.
Cream colored foam hangs upon it.
Crusting and dripping it changes.
Muscle in movement formations
shaping on cold winter mornings.
Exercise done, I untack him.

I can think of no subject more mundane than my job. Parse this sucker please.

Try buttering bread naked, and precariously clumsy.
Invite a mate, one unopposed to a little spillage,
and without the best selling brand of paper towels,
buttered bread, buttered bread, have some fun,
feed a friend.

I decided to accept Wesley's challenge to convert this verse of Blake to Iambic, but won't try for pentameter, that would demand a total re-write.

To see a World in a Grain of Sand
And a Heaven in a Wild Flower,
Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand
And Eternity in an hour.

To see a World in Sand's small Grain
a Heaven in a flower's bloom,
To Hold infinity in your hand's palm
Eternity each hour.

I’ll have to buy tobacco very soon
or else I have to smoke the wretched crap.
I keep it on the chance I might run out,
but elsewise I prefer my Captain Black.

Buying my tobacco must be sooner
than the chance I’ll smoke the wretched crappy.
Keeping it on chance I might run out soon,
Captain Black I elsewise do prefer it.