For the first three couplets, this is a very very good poem. I like the form, the repetition, the story. But then it swerves inwards, almost narcissistic in Mississippi to a point, and loses something vital in the turn.
Ill-Made Almighty by Heather McHugh
I love the play of language here, the internal rhyme, slant rhyme, alliteration, whatever. Also, it’s quick, gets to the point, and gets out while ahead. And the subject matter is too dear to my mind.
Mind of Rime by Ashley VanDoorn
Someone’s got the glossary out. And then there’s the ferocious histrionic telling.
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