My gut aches, and the Soupy Sucklins pulse
My pucker, as though of Montezuma I have drunk,
Or emptied a fetid bag of rotting repulse
Gripping the toilet rim, feces covered junk
'Tis through my mouth escapes the lunch lost,
But flaming anus, makes me anusless
That thou, toilet paper out of reach
In some malodorous plot
Of leavings hot and brown, exiting regardless,
Liquid of digestion in a swollen gutted breeze.
I see reflection in the sweat pooling at my feet.
What fetid incense stains upon the walls,
But, in liquid darkness, gives prickly heat
Wherewith toilet water splashes upon my balls
The pubes, the thicket, matted with mess;
White knuckled I unleash into the bathtub
Fast departing mouthfuls of lunches past
And Soupy Sucklins, I wish I could repress
The coming musk-fog, thick like a smoky pub
The murmurous haunt of flies begging to be gassed.
Now go make yourself a sandwich and let your thoughts dwell on the beauty I have presented to you. I am off for another round of burning bung and the dizzy heaves.
Post a Comment