Another Shit Picture – A Crap Painting
Another Poem About a Turd
When you preserve like flute showered by the fart
nothing but that love of stringy threads
the pale elixir that trusts in your brown magnolia
from your head to your tail make out
dough of the land
the squids of the pants, the power of the trousers.
The moon smiles at the cloth
but the turd does not smile,
when he looks at the buttocks giant
and the sordid sack
and you promise like a fragrance of flatulence.
Translucent glistening and cleansed one,
I do not change in the moonlight evening of delirious darkness
a difficult path through your anus.
You, who is like a soft baguette among the exiled,
of many and of one?
I could develop a hole, abyss, and passage
from my wells and tunnels you pass
with a brimstone skid mark
with imbroglios in my rectum
nothing but that bridge of worms and threads
you develop slowly
into a universe to ooze your pride.
I’d do it for the evening star in which you conduct
for the flower heads of green and brown you’ve drunk
your quilt is a shoreline filled with morose sprouts and green beans
there is no mucus but delirious cycles of grace and deep gritty brown
paths of dashing atrocious discharge.
how little we breathe in of you and how much you enrich the air
of the toilet.
You plop in the area falling from a vertical height?
And you’ll ask why doesn’t this restroom
preserve and cherish me whole
but alas we flush.
I do enjoy you passing through me,
see you again tomorrow.