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.