Mad ©Hatterbox Poem

This poem will not stop 
spilling. It’s thrilling, 
really

if you can keep up. She 
can’t shut her trap to save 
her life. Words every

-where. She says drink me
and we do, because she is 
both decadent and true 

and all things in between. 
As well as late for tea. See? 
She’s all blah-blah-blah 

and hurrah and hallelujah
and if you listen carefully 
she speaks three (maybe four?)

languages. Including Braille. 
She’ll leave a trail of dots and 
dashes, hashtag slashes 

and vernacular glee. (She
also speaks moon.) Don’t 
ask her any questions 

or you’ll never get out of here; 
she’s locked into high 
gear for good (and evil.) 

She’s like the Energizer (Q)bunny
poem, even when she’s running 
out of rhythm and rhyme. 

(Remember, you can stop 
reading, anytime.) 

But then she’ll wink and say 
come hither, my phraseology 
might be all in a dither 

but I’ve got some stars to shine 
into your day. A fallen one. A broken 
’nother. A golden sun. A crescent mother. 

Shall we dance in their shine? I’ll save you 
one for sweeping, one for safe keeping. And 
one just to say you’re mine. 

https://imprompt.wordpress.com/2022/11/03/day-3/

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