The Angst SonnetAck! I feel constrained by scan and rhyme.
It's my fault. Enjambed in time and space
so ill-defined, I make myself a mime
and hopeless clown. I feel so out of place.
What is rhyme, that so entrances, trails,
With useless tails of words? What is scan,
whose meters and feet have no regard for scales
of distance and space? These rules enthrall this man.
I will be a modern poet's dread,
Dressed in black, cappucino in hand,
Banishing Kerouac, quoting Skeltonic instead
And ending every line with rhymes so bland.
Perhaps this is my sole and soul-full fate--
To spout the rhythm and rhymes that moderns hate
copyright 24 Apr 1995, by Earle B. 'Glas' Durboraw.