The Next Line

Betting on the next line makes
sense; given I’ve no idea what
comes then leaves to chance
making healthier odds than an
inspired poetic guess

So we’re gambling with a wise
impression of viridity – maybe
half a poet’s dozen or less will
see arrant nonsense in that,
or care to comment usefully

There’s no sanctuary in verse
sagging for metric sibilance or
worse where half-assed views
fail poetic consonants less by
assonance than indolence

Next line’s mystery to me too;
I won’t lose sleep though – I’m
cured.
© 1 December 2010, I. D. Carswell