Right at this moment,
right as I'm writing this,
I have to take a massive shit.
The kind where your colon
pops out like a snake,
whips around to face you,
and shouts, "WHASSAAAAAAAAAAP!!?"
The kind where you think
it's spaghetti coming out,
but it's actually YOUR OWN VEINS.
And if you're reading this
the moment it was posted
you can say with pride
"I was there.
I was there for his moment."
Otherwise,
you're just reading a recorded memory
of one man's gastric soul-cry
when heaven and earth converged
on the omphalos Gas of my ass
the moment when I was about to give birth
to a photon torpedo of shit.
...and now this poem is done.
and you know what?
I don't need to shit anymore. The urge is gone.
Fuck.
WAIT-- IT JUST CAME BACK--
_
Saturday, December 13, 2003
insight into the demi-ourgos:
a modern creation poem
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