Hotwired the orgasmatron
headed out on sixty-nine
know there’s nothin up ahead
and even less behind.
Pagination, pixilation
nothing seems to work
maybe just I’m gettin old
maybe just a jerk
off that is
gee whiz
can’t ya take a joke?
Lost in smoke
years since last toke
days since last drink
I think.
As ya'll can see
rhyme don't agree
with me,
so back to blank
slate, mate
and the cheque's
on you.
Iambic to the core
commonman’s snore
such a bore.
Straight from the soul
infinite whole
or is that hole,
wasn’t this
supposed to be
erotica?
Never know
have to go
Now.
Categories:
pagination, slam,
Form: Vogon Poetry