This is the poem procured from the excrement of Oprah Winfrey’s book of the month
This is the poem found coursing through the irritable bowels of a Shetland pony
This is the poem hijacked from sweat drenched bar stools & strangled rectal meat
This is the poem gleaned from the pituitary gland of a morbidly obese beautician
This is the poem brimming with intimacy issues & palm sweat
This is the poem full of tube sock ejaculate
This is the poem that tickles your throat like a slow tongue swallow
This is the poem forged from projectile vomit & feminine itch products
This is the poem supplemented with big-breasted sluts in gangbang action
This is the poem that bleeds on the carpet every time you read it upside down
This is the poem wilting in the rusted-out trunk of a ’76 Chevy Nova
This is the poem that tastes like a “no money back” guarantee
This is the DAMN poem no one will publish.
–Brian Fugett