the sergeant does not like intentional rhyme
end of a line rhyme especially all that a-b-a-b
bullshit ballads the will-they-wont-they of
poetry he prefers the brutality of blank verse
its callous bark frees us from form and
technique the tool to embed multiplicity
rhyme is sophistry a fool needs to beautify
only a screamed refrain a sordid nickname
hissed like a cut throat can’t hear the music
in his speech the put-on singsong of failure
repeats and this is where I start to write
Read more of Mark Ward’s poetry.
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