False Start
It sprang upon me,
a clawed metaphor
not anything real,
but a shaggy crypto-beast.
Hand picked alliterations
scatter like litter.
Then the seductive purr
the mannered modes, the manicured forms
those deftly obvious diphthongs
that like spoor, lead to more -
the unmistakable reek of
a force-fed poem
The first step they say is recognition,
the second step is to admit
a laryngeal contrivance.
The third step is to clean up
without complaint,
when it poops all over the page.
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2021
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