When I am overtly poetic
I sport million-dollar words
and wear purple prose that draws undue attention
to my meter.
I count syllables like coins
and calculate figures of speech
spending their value as a miser
and a mayor.
I drive metaphor
and plead my case with simile.
Art is my co-counsel.
I waltz Con-stanza down the street
and suffer bouts of word play.
I stutter sonic symbolism
and wallow in imagery.
When I am overtly poetic
I overindulge linguistically
All
Day
Long.
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