I am a poem of fourteen lines of verse
who needs to have a rhythm to my life.
I prattle forth and sometimes may seem terse.
To me my sense of order seems just fine.
Precise and balanced well from stem to stern
I sail along with confidence and glee.
I know just where I’m going at each turn
and grateful, balanced, happy to be me.
I know a life of structure’s not for some.
What kind of world would that be after all,
with every single person being one
like dancers all in rhythm at a ball.
However, just for me the rules are fine.
No matter if I do live out of time.
Previously published by Form Quarterly, June 2015