The Last Word: An Odd Ode To The Id (Est) Poem by Frank Avon

Forgive me:
It's been a month

of suffering,
and suddenly words flow

and flood,
jettison,

won't stop
with the clock

can't be controlled
can't be bruited

or muted
or mooted.

In line
after line

by accident
by design

it ain't poetry
and it ain't prose

it's gibberish,
of fish

a pretty kettle
(cf. Keats)

stop it
stop it

cap it
top it

this pome
of foam

suds
duds

PS:
SOS

ceaSe
deSiSt

ssssssss

sssss

sss

s- - -
QUIT

QT

U I (me)

Q

T -

hee