I found this in my files today. It’s probably my favorite piece that I’ve done, though I never finished it. But as my poetry instructor used to say, “A poem is never finished, merely abandoned.” Thanks, Cody.
I know a lazy language lover who lives for alliteration.
Every time I visit, he makes boring passes
while pouring glasses of rhyme.
I spotted one in a dress who made my entendres
do double takes; her metaphors bounced
like similes, her hyperbole swayed majestically.
I met an idiom on his last leg. He said limply,
“All my syllables were always too stressed.”
Collapsed then did his syntax.