The only thing worse than a bad poet is one who doesn't think he is.

H Monkey runs, H Monkey hides -
a monkey's always by our sides.
Mine sees no ill nor hears too well
but screeches that I'll go to hell.
(Or else he sings without one word.

Be glad if you have never heard
what buzzes raw and feels more fell,
a din of rage, a one-man cell.)