A tornado of non-trochees and immeasurable anapaests.

Bizarre. My words are

Flip

Flop

Flapping about                                    the page,

Which all does seem to appear quite peculiar, trickling

Down from a line

To the next with no visible pattern;

Like the break, break, breaking of a vase,

Which shatters

In       every      direction.

Cast off the iambs and the feet;

Forming a structure of non-structure to

Express anew;

               Fluttering formations of

wriggling

               words.

I do like pie.

The End

86 comments about this poem Feed