Nonsense!

"[...]But all they want to do 

is tie the poem to a chair with rope 

and torture a confession out of it. 

They begin beating it with a hose 

to find out what it really means."

- Billy Collins, "Introduction to Poetry" 

'It's not in your typical fashion', say you.

Well, good sir, kindly explain!

I'd very much like you to

Pick apart my very brain!

You see, I am alone with my thoughts

More than you are with me

So, you have said more than you ought

To have- a bit tongue in cheek

And if you ask me - which I am -

Me. I am me, not you,

'What is your typical fashion?'

I would reply: 'What do I do?'

To which, accordingly, say you:

'A poet, of course, by any other name,

A lyricist, and a novelist, too,

If you liken each the same'

In turn, I would scoff

And ruffle my hair,

'My dear friend, did I not ask you,

what I don't and dare?'

To which, being your witty self,

You would respond with a smile,

'You apply yourself to bookshelves,

Is that not your style?'

'My fine fellow, indeed I do,

But you're missing the mark,

You did ask me, untrue,

A statement of remark?'

''Tis not your typical fashion' 

Say you! Not who or why

Twas a claim, my disposition,

Did fancy your mind's eye!

A poet is not 'do', 

Despite your quick retort,

A poet is 'who'

Or 'how' of sorts!

'Oh, I should have never spoke'

Say you, cheeks puffed so red!

'A poet will choke

Every word till they're dead!'

And I, with great breath

Might liken a smile,

'Now, which to the death?

The poet or the style?'

Ears alight with frenzy 

You counter my drawl,

'Tis you who has slain me!

The poet brings death to us all!'