Poetry That Isn'T

What wafting of wisdom! Such saccharine sound! Deft diction’s depictions, opaque and profound! So ruminants rumble and mumble and seek To mine out much marrow, obtuse and oblique. My constant conundrum’s more crude and perverse: I strive not to retch at such wretched non-verse. Fair finery flops if its form foully flows: Each clash, pull, and smash smells of emperor’s clothes. You poets who pass pompous prose off as poem, Go home!