An entirely different sort of poem, a ‘flowing’ form quite the opposite of the norm, where the poet stacks one rhyme atop another, only for their ladder to fall, agonisingly so, having to watch all of his/her work cascade into a pool below, diluted and droll, full of mixed up metaphor, big words, little ones unable to catch their breath and stand in line, try as they might, what was once a glorious stream of rhyme now foregone, a fascinatingly wrong turn taken