Of all the crap that I have seen
In all the days that I have been,
(Or is it is, or was, or has-been?)
Skip it!
Stupid exi-stench-a-lists!
Horizons of grounded orisons
To what is, or else.
Breasts-full of them
All gone to the head.
And himself a godless god, made
Millions of words on nothing.
Being a one-in-a-million Markov chain,
A million monkeys
On a million typewriters
For a million years
Could not have done better.
(Or could they?)
But jam does not mix
With ham, Mam. Man—
Let there be puke—
Wham! Damn!
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