Magnetic Poetry Bore

If you look closely enough You can see the white bones of the magnetic poetry Sticking out beneath my trousers; I wanted to write poetry But I followed too many rules, and I rhymed God forsaken special purgatory that rhymers are exiled to. You're in the wrong century; man, maybe even the wrong sex? Come to think of it, you even (guffaw) think that Things going up must come down, and that if you love someone And let them go, they'll come back just to thank you For giving them freedom to leave in the first place- Wrong, diphthong-breath! And may God save my soul from overt descriptions, For ignoring the sins of civilization at large, For failure to make critical social commentary, And for noting, that nooses are always uncomfortably tight Especially after sticking your own neck in. If only I had chosen more enlightening themes Roosters that crow raucously while you're having sex And stains on ceilings representing withheld orgasms There's a Ouija like quality to the magnetic tiles So now I'm hoping one of my alternate selves Will get into poetry in a big way.