The Insidiousness of Form

Rhyme is the poet’s parachute,
arresting too soon the vital rush,
the vertiginous cyclone,
of thought and language.

Rhythm is a backstop at the world series,
protection from the hard-thrown
wildly spinning turn of phrase
whose meaning, dealt
only a glancing blow
by the reader, might otherwise carom
into the crowd.

And form…form is the straitjacket
from which no writer escapes.
Protected from the insanity
of his own words, the poet
struggles to break free,
but his cries only echo
up and down the empty halls.