This, My Universe

This, My Universe

by Kelp

To stretch the limits of poetry
Is something that appeals to me.

Rhymes and near-rhymes doodled in the margin;
Blot the caboodle and opt for freedom.

Not free verse where the
rules don’t apply
at all.
No, something
newnique:

An alternate universe of composition
Where I decide what rhymes with what!

And what do you care?
And why is this of interest?
To you or anyone else?
That care and interest are rhyming words,
In this, my universe,
Which I have named E,
Every time and all the time.
And time and E are rhyming words
In this, my universe.
And you shout snob or slob or maybe crab or stink
And I say I don’t care for those words
Or maybe I would if you didn’t shout them so loud
At this, my enormous ear.
But snob and slob and crab and stink aren’t words that rhyme at all
In this, my universe called E,
Where we have conquered time.
Does this spark some interest?
That I’m here, that I say, that I care.