in Wierding that Weaves
and find me thorough–
entrenched therein confused
cross-hatches, mismatches,
patterns; tripping, tripping
caverns of ripe lines, verses–
stanzas can catch my hopes;
which notice of me will fluster
at the sight of me?
bend the javelins that express;
queer and clever, see excess;
pander until the distress of
a rhyming poem dies senseless