I’m 37 and 1 Day

I’m in a new place

With post B day poo

Dropping down deuces in this rather nice space

Hitting it up, in a new to me loo.

Dessert, drowning in chocolate and topped

With gold leaf.

Poo, not nice but not the worst I’ve dropped

To be brief.

And now I’ll check out the wipe

And hope it ain’t lame

But if I know the type…

It’s horribly the same.

Milk of Magnesia

Woken by the street sweeper

My brain is barely working

My butthole started jerking

This poo was not a keeper

It demanded release

At 339 in the AM

Who knows if I’d have played’em

If my sleep did not suffer decrease


Spicy in!

Spicy out!

Pickled jalapenos burning both my holes!

I settled down

On the throne

And found I could not get it all out.

Backed up and full of fire

A terrible State of Affairs

Tomorrow, leafy greens

You’ve Missed Me, I know

You’ve missed me, I know
And all the poos, unbestowed
But I’m back in the saddle
With both hands on the paddle
Ready to steer through the poop
And keep you in the loop
Through poetic verses
Of how the poo transverses
And fills up the bowl
To blow your mind hole.
Poo Poetry, take 3.
It’s just you all and me.


A weekend of junk

Filling my gut

High smelly, like a skunk

As it leaves my butt.


But I ran in the morning

To better my body

And pass from the mourning

Of the tasty food that’s quite shoddy.


And now I must wipe

That brown eye of mine

To keep it the type

Of glistening, clean shine.

Post-work Poo

Being laid off won’t stop me from pooping

Doing some while on the clock is the best

But these poems will continue looping

Through everyone’s emails, texts and all the rest.


Max shared his fresh tuna, a big ass blue fin

Before that were hotdogs, chips and beer

A combination that makes this shit an unholy sin

Full of a stench that the righteous shall fear.


And that’s all I have to say about that

No need to wax on and smother you in detail

Even if this poo was quite long and fat

But I will say, my book is available in retail.