[Does it] need to be neat and clean?
We just landed on new s[H]ores.
When I started doing [writing] poetry I was all about prosody.
It was all about fright and apprehension; an absolute lack of funny
Until I grew bored of rhythm and rime.
It made no sense whatsoever and worth not a dime
Boredom is the path to innumerous sins
It brings the insatiable seek of distraction
There we sow the seeds of our own destruction
So, ten years ago, I started writing [differently]
In French, because it was [aberrantly] comforting
Had some glorious moments of frivolous poetic soar [sore?]
And my loads of enemies showing teeth [, claws]
We are now
I am trying new ways; exploring new paths
[IDK] what will be the aftermaths