Sense

This poem makes no sense. Or perhaps it does.

I'm writing things down
Because I am bored.
This is one poem
That should be ignored.

This poem is pathetic.
I think the rhyme scheme is off.
If you've read this far
I really must scoff.

This poem makes no sense.
I just checked the refrigerator.
If I was using paper
I'd throw this in the incinerator.

I'm going to keep writing
For as long as I can.
Seriously, I won't stop.
I've never tried flan.

I told you this was nonsense
Yet why are you still reading?
If I spoke this out loud
I bet ears would be bleeding.

This poem is garbage.
It's total bullshit.
It's something I shouldn't
Even bother to submit.

I don't know how much
More I can say.
The next stanza is nonsense,
By the way.

Window seat cushions
And some pasta sauce, too.
The end of this poem
Is long overdue.

I'm out of ideas,
So I'll say farewell.
If you read this long
You must be bored as hell.

Author's Note

I think the poem explains everything.

Reviews

[dlowebianco]

Flan is pretty good.