I’ve had it with font choice, with flush 

Left, with fake quatrains.  Sibilance

I hearby abjure, onomatopoeia shoo!, die weighty

Enjambment, get thee gone slow syllables, pregnant

Line endings, the whole predictable claptrap

Of stanzaic patterning.  Yes, let’s embrace

No time’s spontaneous mind.  Let’s calibrate

Sacrifice, criticize power, call a friend

A friend, and live without hogging the harvest. 

Tolerance, be the new metric, the “other”

Our erotic porthole.  Let’s slip into the lap pool,

Get wet with the word, be nothing but brains

Abuzz with irrational bees.  Poetry’s the coconut

That under the drowned sailor’s head finally sprouts.