Reviewing with River

Reviewing, chewing, eschewing modern verse. I rehearsed a curse (or two. One is never enough)

I felt cuffed, too and fro, upside the head, by these writers words I read. They were expressed grammatically incorrect, by someone (I suspect) who had imbibed a drink, one or two (One is never enough to create this kind of blubbery stuff).

Was given five stars by some daft fiend, who probably neglected to read to this living end. I stared my eyes in place, fingers hovering over the vastness of this disgrace . . .

paused and considered how not to wither the soul who had left it so defaced.

There is no hope for some folks. No matter how a reviewer prods and pokes. The angst that was driven by this love poem sent spin'n, I left to its own swim'n (like these words I'm now print'n)

for you, poor dope, with which to mope and cope. The writing is on the wall of this very same bathroom stall. So nose all quiver, I guess I've delivered every word I meant to recall.