poetry
two days ago i ate two burgers
at that place called buns. you know it?
it’s on st. laurent. near pins.
never mind.
i felt like shit. like, really bad.
like food coma doesn’t communicate how bad.
food dead came to mind. i don’t think it works, though.
i didn’t shit that night.
then, yesterday,
I drank some coke zero
because I thought I wasn’t allergic to aspartame anymore.
I am, apparently. my stomach was ripping itself apart.
Today, I took a shit, finally.
Forgot to mention I didn’t shit yesterday
in that last part.
If I had to quantify it, I’d say it maybe smelled
5% of poo
and 95% of burger.
It was as if there was a grill in the toilet.
What’s weird is that it kind of made me hungry.
I thought, “you know, I could go for a burger.”
Then I thought, “I just got appetized by my own shit.”
Appetized? Am I using that word properly?
Travis laughed when I told him about this and
said I should write a poem about it.
He said there should be lofty allusions to Oroboros in there.
Lofty allusions aren’t so much my style.
Blunt, direct references are distinctly more my style.
Oroboros.
