Neoverbosity Anonimity

Perhaps a made up word, the title is, but it contradicts the appeal.  

A poem, for me, is short phrases of words pack with zip and zeal.

It's a glimpse, a wink, a nod toward themes of trepidation and fear

Subjects I don't dare look on fully, face, or, EVER get anywhere near

Hide behind the safety of symbolism, imagery, metaphor and pun

Insincere like the sarcastic wit for which I am a most famous one

Prose, a tall, clean mirror that, try as I might, I can't hide behind

The cloak of poems, stained glass, whose clear image one can't find

Still, the challenge a fellow proser kindly poses is a most vexing one

For this mere mortal, devoid of any real penned talent, under the sun

Humbly, vainly, I attempt to use bigger (clearer?) words, stretch lines

Like stretch MARKS really, ugly, purple and indelible- my rhymes

Have you now seen me more clearly, more naked before you I so am

Hurry now, read without haste, all this attention?  Ick, I have to jam

This "neoverbosity" does not suit me one little, tiny, eensy-weensy bit

Back to the shadows, the (mis-)interpretations, the rhymes I make fit

Rock on, word fragments, sentence play, chaos lack of any/all control

Rules, grammar, structure, logic?  Order, routine?- oh, how very droll

So, kind proser, with your verbose challenge, you so very much stink!

(You DO know I'm kidding!!  name-calling is so immature, ya think?!)