There's a certain slant of rhyme,
In experimental writing,
That encroaches, like the tide, --
On the delta, breaking.
Soil and sediment it gives us;
Some may find a flaw,
But what this technique creates is
An inlet, -- where more words can flow.
All may use it recklessly,
'Tis the water, yielding, --
To be contaminated, if carelessly
Abused for quick composing.
Without precision, this ocean glistens,
Seagulls hold their breath;
With, 't is lost -- like the dolphin
Returning to the depths.
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