Crap rhymes with sap,
avoid o’er, e’en, and hap;
Shakespeare counted on one hand’s fingers.
Beyond that you’re mostly just stringing
some words together, doing some lines*
(*or glasses, bottles, pills, injections, or whatever).
Telling’s no good, but showing’s real fine.
Roses are tired, so give them a rest;
we readers would rather you wouldn’t confess.
A verse is a stanza, but some poetry’s verse.
This advice won’t save you, but it won’t make you worse.
Never mind the wasteland; you’re living in it.
And that wheelbarrow poem don’t mean shit.
Copyright 2015
T. Allen Culpepper
