Very Bad Archive
Wee Hours
Robert Hawkins
Fatigue poisons.
Cascading synaptic redundances.
The peculiarites of social
stratification,
In ones own family.
No, I did that already.
My higher functions,
Barest nominal.
Minimal.
I need ta....zzzz.
Hind brain.
I will take it from here.
His skewed style,
Be easily done from here.
I mean it ain't angst to assville.
His skewed efforts,
Have no grace or finesse.
No subtly, requiring little thought.
Reminiscent of slobber on paper.
Or in the face with a can of mace.
But now I his "Hind" control
the words.
And I'll shut down his autonomic functions.
Before I let him change a word.
There was a girl in Nantucket.
Who didn't have a brain in her bucket.
But she could do me wicked and raw.
When the chance came to sell her,
To another feller.
For fifteen hundred smackers.
Let me consult please.
There was a girl in Nantucket.
Who took a short right,
Upper cut to her bucket.
I was spared the pain of parting,
As I was counting my cash.
She got me some cash,
And I gave her the clap.
rlh
Note: anyone notice that some people are curiously unfit for the fate waiting for them on earth.
Speaking of which I would like to thank my sis for the home lobotomy kit.
Robert Hawkins has published 2 more terrible poems since joining on 30/11/99. Read more of Robert's terrible poetry at the anthology. Here are three of Robert's latest works: