Posted: June 13, 2014 in poetry
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Bumper-hunting I will go!
Bumper-hunting I will go!
I look like a joke when in search of smokes.
When bumper-hunting I choose to go.
I look like scum, I look like a bum.
Everybody knows.
I go for a walk and pick up bumpers,
In car-parks and  railway stations,
Then I feel in my brain a peculiar sensation.
I really don’t care what they think.
What I need is a smoke and a drink.
When bumper-hunting I do go,
I don’t care if it’s against the flow,
And I don’t care if everybody knows.
And if I get lost or disappear,
At least I’ll have some smokes and my beard.
And I don’t care if people think I’m weird.

  1. in carparks supermarkets on the floor is the litter
    here and there in the garden beds on the floor astray
    forever i am viced to have something in my mouth
    and taking smoke into the lungs i must at all times
    makes no sense i know
    but a horrible pain i feel
    if i dont get the smokey in my lungs constantly
    ill wither and crane over and the walls will all blow over
    and thats when my eyes will peel
    to look around for a treat that others
    throw away as trash
    another mans rubbish is this mans treasure
    but i hope i dont get to the place last.

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