Addicted to Rhyme
after Robert Palmer (and best enjoyed while trying to sing as he did)
Your BFA stares from its frame.
That's your school. That's your name.
Your workshop drawl and knitted brow
ain't givin' you what you need now.
You can't eat. You can't sleep.
Or write a stroph' that's fit to keep.
A word strips. Exclusions wink.
Your line ends soon. You're on the brink!
Whoa, you learned to roll your eyes when syllables match,
Your ear still gets itches only one thing will scratch.
You know you're gonna have to face it: you're addicted to rhyme.
You need that smile that no one fakes.
The vocal tract knows what it takes.
When pairs of words skip arm in arm,
if you skip, too, who would it harm?
Your Mother Goose. Your "Let It Be."
Ol' Doc Seuss and all dem hip-hop MC's. . . .
Your Rilke knew the ancient dance.
Wallflowers cough and call it chance.
No Fear Shakespeare
caught you up-- when you lied,
But who wants to emulate that-- that right-hand side?
I think we'd all appreciate it if you gave us some rhyme.
Chrous: Might as well face it, you're addicted to rhyme.
[raunchy electric guitar solo]
Steele, Stallings, Gwynn: they're having fun.
You look pissed. You sound glum.
And Aaron P. just had a blast
doin' that thang
whose 'time is past!'
That rhyme-scheme skirt, you know your ear wants to hike it.
Don't you grin and turn away. (Like you don't like it. . . .)!
Look, you're gonna have to face it: you're addicted to rhyme.