BOUND VERSE II
Bound verse, ironically, is quite unbound,
For writing it you have nothing to say,
Since sense comes after you have sought a sound
As line by line you pace your measured way.
Perhaps a general notion of a theme
Sets off your march across the empty page
As your mind slides into a state like dream
Or like a spooky spell cast by a mage.
The form itself provokes this impetus,
While something in your brain seeks cogency
As each line finds its sonic terminus
Where sound and sense seem destined to agree.
The paradox is that by being bound
Your verse allows new vistas to be found.