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  Free verse was captured,
  confined to a cell
  by readers unraptured
  in modernist hell.

  And there he did languish
  while chained to the wall
  and desperate in anguish
  gave forth a last call:

  “Listen and read me—
  my muse is the best!
  Applaud and then feed me,
  your starving guest !

  Don’t fall for that beat…
  Please ignore their old line.
  I’m here. I’m effete.
  I’m a modern divine…

  I like it in prison
  No, really — I’m free!”
  (But his lock was awaiting
  Your Readership’s key.

  For the moderns all lie,
  as your readership knows;
  Modern poets don’t die—
  they just decompose.)

   

  https://connecthook.wordpress.com/

  An original poem every day of April:   NaPoWriMo2016

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