Grimbeau

I’m 54 years old now and the critics say

My stuff is getting sicker than ever.

As I often explain to the half-starved wretch

Who does most of my writing

Do not eat the stuff, just chew it over and

And spit it out.

The irregular beatings help sometimes, but the diet of

Wild Turkey and rabid Milfs are gobbling him

Up apace. Like the critics, they swipe the chintz curtains

For their condos.

Still life in the slum is regular now I got the pacemaker

(you can pick one up pretty cheap since the Diamond

League finished).

What is better than a BLT? I hear you ask.

Two.