Sonnet Ending in Response of a Four-Year-Old Told to Stop Banging His Fork on the Table
O, I am a mad deed-doer, I am.
I fuss for a drama, foam for a dram.
I diss maids, use mud, reaffirm murder,
I rudder Mafias, fraud reformers.
I'm rum for amour, adore more of me,
defer desire for mirrors I see.
Am I rid of id, do I fear a dare?
I frame arias, I fuse odes from air,
offer feuds of moods, suffer furied riffs,
I armor radios, refuse earmuffs.
I am disorder moored, a red air raid,
a reefer dream of a fried surfer dame.
I simmer summer. I am fire's sum.
I ride rims, Mama, I am made of drums.
