Poetry has many inspections

each line remains re-touched;

we frown at fingered collections

of nouns and other stuff.

 

There are troublesome inflections,

and bleeding, wrung-out verbs-

the wandering expositions

of rhymes the metre serves.

 

There are stand alone conjunctions

in hope that it amazes

where

in solitude it functions

in contrived schematic phrases.

 

Words and image Tommy Carroll