Inspired by Ellison's latest, I offer this oldie from my pre-2001 collection:
Befoul the Earth! my ass is wont to cry
We need more brown to heap and fertilize!
This dung so soft, I sink up to my thighs
What pungent peat! Let's make it into pies
You stare in shock, but 'tis no shock to me
To shit in public, where all may behold
With pants around my ankles, gleefully
My topping off a pile brave and bold
Four fingers jut, and lo, a crooked thumb
That help unclog an anus, spent and numb
A final heave, a final grunt of rue--
An angel made of feces passes through!
[revised from the original, from Scary Spasms in Hairy Chasms, p. 155]
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I should have suspected this little poetry slam between me and Og would get your happy attention. Please feel free to join in!
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