Creativity is lacking
boredom and gum smacking
chewing tobacco and hacking
my lungs up on the stove

Upon which I cook my old pajamas,
into the shape of pancake llamas,
why do I so like commas?
Ask’s my editor in “”

For he reads my tiring essays
that kaw like just born blue jays
which, really, what can you say
when they’re born of crusty eyed goats?

whose goatees need some combing
as blurry eyed and roaming
through countryside and homing
towards red eyed blue blood dolts

Yes, my confidence is waning
it truly is quite shaming
though I hear no one complaining
of my lack of expertise

I’ll jump through hoops I swear
but no one really cares
except the evil one, that wears
the red tongued Schaefer goat

ridiculous it is said
I might as well be dead
so someone shoot me in the head
or I shall surely croak

from my poor poetry
it’s brings only one true glee
and that only one is me
now hand me that hand saw...