Poetastery (3)
Convert me into meter, sir,
dispose of me in rhyme –
pray enjamb me in a corner
where I must bide your time.
With assonance I’ll not demur,
in iambs I shall dwell,
embrace alliteration’s lure –
I’m sure it suits me well;
each topsy-turvy metaphor
and simile obscene –
I will not ponder what they’re for
or ask you what you mean.
For meaning’s mark you may forswear
though I should keep your time:
Dispose of me in meter, sir,
disperse me into rhyme.