Pretentious Guff

I read some odd new verse today;
And yet I'm told they make it pay.
Pretentious guff devoid of meaning,
Seems to be the modern leaning.

They eschew the old virtues:
Rhyme, assonance and metre
Are the sounds they do not choose.
Relying on imagination,
They despise alliteration.

Wading through the language like a beater,
Startling the reader with their prose
Which seems to have an overdose
Of structureless modernity.
I think it's called 'free verse';
The price feels right.

If anyone thinks the last verse is a bit 'free verse' itself, I reply:

'consistency is the bugbear of lesser minds'.