Poetic Urgency

Does it capture us or set us free?

Never did I suspect how many people write poems beginning with the form. I didn’t know there were so many forms. I began writing doggerel at 11 or so without knowing what doggerel is. I have an unerring instinct for the common form, including puns, and for the ingenuous use of “s” words such as serious, solipsism and sarcopenia. I despise nouns gendered for no reason at all, such as him rhoids. I imagine it’s because they pop out, which is rather yang, but they likewise retract in a yin phase.

“It’s not him rhoid. It’s him/her rhoid.” “Never mind then, professor. I’ll just write a bit of doggerel.”

I am the dog in the doggerel and I will piss on your shoes, you bloody silk stocking, shocking am I? Fly by night one step ahead of the focking sheriff. I don’t care if you are amused to see what you’d be if you were me, like you used to be, you’ve got a lot of nerve to say you are my friend I used to be among the crowd you’re in with slithers parenthetically through needing no attribution and you better believe I’ll bite without barking a word you absurd nurd may words bounce off you like falling coconuts off the hood of your new Nissan parked in the wrong place at the wrong time, end of rhyme.

“So, it’s good shit, right?” “Yes, Professor. A true sativa.”