READ MY FLAMING POEM

Read my flaming poem,
Isn't it just lovely?
A poem in itself.
A poem about poetry.

A poem that lets you know,
How bored to death I feel.
I'm writing and I'll keep writing,
Until I become ill.

You're not still reading this, are you?
This useless, bit of nothingness?
I'm writing just to pass the time,
Sat at the same old desk.

Well, there's nothing here at all;
Nothing important, of any interest.
Words, words, more unsaid words.
This poem's not the best.

It's not the best, as I've just said.
As I've just wrote. As you've just read.
Yet I keep on writing, and you're reading more.
I wonder just what we're doing this for?

Well, I'm a bit bored. Don't know about you,
Whoever you are. Perhaps you're bored too.
There must be something better, more worthwhile to do.
You've read my flaming poem. Now my flaming poem's through.

8 April 2002