Metric Angst

[milo]

I want to write a gothic poem
in iambic pentacles
although a foot has been chewed off
by something black with tentacles

Tear me a dactyl now, take me and teach me how
I shall be broken by devilish rhymes
make me a sacrifice, wake me up, treat me nice
I have lived through this pain thousands of times

Take my head and mount it as your
trochee, beating down the thunder
rising from my harried heartbeat
once a rock to shelter under

With a sly anapaest you must fail rhythm tests
while your brain seeks a regular beat
ev’ry stumble, ev’ry tumble, ev’ry small erratic rumble
all comes back to those same fucking feet!

Counting Feet (Flipping Burgers)

If you have nothing better to do
than type on your phone and count feet,
I suppose (and who would know better than you)
it's more thrilling than shilling grilled meat.
I could make a case (or a case could be made)
that the meat is no treat without fries
(or a bun and a pickle) then packaged and trayed
(would you care for the drink supersize?)
Words are just words (even written absurd)
they're the buns and the fries but no sauce
and no better or worse whether written or heard
for the true curse in verse is its loss.


Now while counting those, I just don't suppose
you stopped to consider your shoes?
Just pull out your foot and insert your nose
it's no rose, save your breath count in twos.

If you have time for margaritas and lime
but you can't stand the sand of the beach
keep your feet and your rhyme to yourself because I'm
too temperamental to teach.