Patois Pastiche

Patois Pastiche

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Like Shakespeare wrote his famous sonnet song.
I can't let my words be stilted n'gray
I feel taffy words s t r e e e e t c h, pull me along.
A slinky coil of language repeats out
Of sentences written and of legal;
The judges' control is never in doubt
When you sit in your crown and cape, regal.
Now hockey puck nouns slide down false ice hills,
While the adverbs waltz over their faces.
The morphemes have gone off to get their thrills,
And the articles have won the races.
The world of the words is a tangled weave...
There's much more there than they let us perceive.