Oh what hunger, what cold!
It’s almost as bad as
reading a novel you don’t like.
So you cross your arms
and put your hands under your armpits
and dream of Golden Corral
and wonder as ever
how many blankets
it takes to change a lightbulb.
Is there a painter on this planet
that if they decided to stop painting
anyone would care?
Which brings me to the unfortunate phrase,
“Crazy as a Bed Bug.”
You see, it’s not that bed bugs are crazy,
it’s that they drive you crazy.
You might call my friend Polymath Pete
and say I’ve sailed the seas and come
at last to an example of transumption.