I have seen poetic feet so perfect, The very smallest units Of patterned stress, Soft idioms of Iambic And drum beats of Anapestic, That march across the carpet In measured meter toward full-length mirrors.
I am the bard of bare soles And naked ankles, Of fallen arches and Swollen heels, Of toenails Pedicured and painted, That catch the light Like so many cut sapphires, All arranged In descending order of size.
I have crafted couplets in Trochaic, And started the heartbeat of lines in Spondaic, For I am the poet of feet, Perfect and imperfect, Poetic And otherwise, Of bunions, bumps and bent toes, Carried within or laid upon A pump, mule, sandal or thong.
no subject
I have seen poetic feet so perfect,
The very smallest units
Of patterned stress,
Soft idioms of Iambic
And drum beats of Anapestic,
That march across the carpet
In measured meter toward full-length mirrors.
I am the bard of bare soles
And naked ankles,
Of fallen arches and
Swollen heels,
Of toenails
Pedicured and painted,
That catch the light
Like so many cut sapphires,
All arranged
In descending order of size.
I have crafted couplets in Trochaic,
And started the heartbeat of lines in Spondaic,
For I am the poet of feet,
Perfect and imperfect,
Poetic
And otherwise,
Of bunions, bumps and bent toes,
Carried within or laid upon
A pump, mule, sandal or thong.