My Rusty Squeeze Box Poem

My poem has seized solid, It doesn't flow or beat. Its meter's off by miles, Perhaps one to delete. It craves poetry oil, To loosen up a bit. Oil as in new words, Fresh idioms to submit. A complete poem overhaul, I shall now perform. My rusty squeeze box poem, I gladly will transform. It reads a little clunky, I'll rewrite every rhyme. Polish them up a bit, Shining line by line. The last verse tricky, A message to rethink. Not for it to vanish, Like an invisible ink. That should be suffice, My rusty poem freed. Now flowing so smoothly, And easier to read.