song of sound

[betteroffbad]

Good poems have a spine of sound
That keeps them rooted to the ground
While still remaining flexible
Bad poems have no spine at all
But flop forlornly on the floor
Or ooze beneath the bedroom door
Or lay in heaps among the ashes
Of sound that scrapes or squeaks or clashes
Bad poems are nothing serious
You can recover easily
While good poems lay their eggs in us
And incubate in you and me