I don’t have to either shit
(even though I’ve been sitting here for a while)
or get off the pot.
(even though I’ve been sitting here for a while)
or get off the pot.
I’ll wait a bit.
There’s a pile
of magazines in here, so I’ll be OK whether I shit
There’s a pile
of magazines in here, so I’ll be OK whether I shit
or not. Well, I’m looking at a
back-lit
photo of a palace on the Nile.
Everyone is smoking pot
photo of a palace on the Nile.
Everyone is smoking pot
under the palm trees, or wading
out
where crocodiles
lurk like blobs of shit
where crocodiles
lurk like blobs of shit
floating in a blue toilet.
If it’ll be a minute it’ll be a mile
between here and wherever I’ll get off the pot—
swimming in plasma like a
sunspot—If it’ll be a minute it’ll be a mile
between here and wherever I’ll get off the pot—
azimuth between my bare bum and the Polestar—
my limit of having to finally shit
or get off an empty pot.
