Lay down that fat turd On a page and now It is time to shape this shit. Do you know what I’m saying? You can Compress it. Grab it In your palm Crush it Or caress it. A ball, A cube— If you’re ballsy. Often I roll it out Like dough under the pin. Shit covers the pan, Forms a sheet over the clear glass Like lipids spreading over a membrane And the heat, the glorious steam draws them Rising like mist from the swamp. You Ever Seen A Person Stretch It Thin, Thin And Long Like A Wire? Its A Real Bitch To Do. Regardless Once I’m done Molding my manure It Is time to cook Because I can’t give the masses Uncooked, half-assed shit. And the smell now Will not draw them in But those that happen to pass… They will fall in love As the oven coils glow At 400 degrees And the shit rises and bubbles. When the shit is fully risen It is time To cut It up And Eat it. Honestly you could just say FUCK IT And Throw It On the walls. And as we do After touching Anything unclean It is time to wash our hands.