Of Poetry's Perfection

I’ve littered the page with alliteration Marbled it with metaphor Injected it with irony Confined it in constrictive cadence Slathered it with slithering syllabic silliness Ravenously roamed the Rhyme Zone Challenged the demons of “How many dot com” Punctuated the un-punctuatable Said “the heck with spelchek” Shed the shroud of sentient surveillance For my words are fed through The shredders of sentiment The chopping blades of “critique” The swirling blades of trimmers The plucky platitudes of pruners And yet I write, compose, imbue In unseen color distant words Rough cut diamonds Defying the cutters edges Leaving a life unpolished Unabashedly unashamed Of the tarnished truths That mar the purity Of poetry’s perfection