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shitty haiku
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| the morning duty
on lazy days delayed at the risk of pain |
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| any magazine
insipid, profound, obtuse will do in a pinch |
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| percolating brew
gurggling with urgency has no need for clocks |
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the wet, popping sound
of organic extrusion joy of emptiness |
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| even if submerged
invisible reminder permeates the air |
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| whistle at the cold
familiar porcelain seat warmed by the end |
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| disinfectant cake
is the least of the evils of the port-a-john |
compacted colon
as hard as agregate stone killed Elvis Presley |
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| the ghostly presence
of the silent but deadly a vile reflection |
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| mastication and
alimentary canal comes out in the end |
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| no cork, no stopper
can prevent defecation obstructions be damned |
the prize, if you will,
of your metabolism is the steaming pile |
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| the King of Sweden
has a pot not filled with gold as any beggar |
most common curse
said without hesitation the name of a friend |
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| chilling and dripping
the horror of the splashback small brown cannonball |
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| remember the fan
the house is easily filled by the brown presence |
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| stranded the next time
the roll on the cardboard tube used and forgotten |
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| a hidden landmine
slippery on the sidewalk dogs run off, laughing |
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| two ply is the best
over the Sears catalog replacing the hand |
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