patterned
I like words
but I hated poetry in school
dissecting someone’s work like a corpse.
a beautiful woman relegated to gory bits.
I like words
but I hate poetry on the internet.
also much like a corpse,
rotten, fetid
only its moon, June and spoon left undecayed.
I like words
but I am loath to call this poetry.
I hope my stitching these words together
turns out better than it did for Dr. Frankenstein.
Or, on second thought, maybe not.
