armed with a plunger

armed with a plunger

he stares down into the

toilet bowl, as the waste

he’s just expelled

captivates him &

a whole swirl of

ideas comes flooding

like a parade of pummeling

tropical storms tearing at

the shore---

that all this was inside him &

now its not,

that all the nutrients the

body found no use for

are being flooded down & out

of their own accord,

that it all says something

about the supposed concept

of “free will,” when

no priests, ministers,

rabbis, mullahs or imams

are in any better of a position

when watching the urine

stream out of their member

straight down into that

Holy Bowl, which levels

all religions, all political

factions, all skirmishes

caused by personal romantic

involvements & afflictions,

all idiosyncratic fragmentations

of our psyches, all temper

tantrum moments of extreme

violence & all eons upon

eons of sloth-like lethargy,

with one crouching down

or standing up, in the event

of a bowel movement,

pressing out the sludge for

which the body itself decides

no necessity remains---

so humbled by the drama of

it all, so taken in by the

mighty flush, he awaits,

plunger in hand,

for the failure accompany the human

error involved

when the toilet had been

constructed, so that only a specific

amount of excrement & toilet

paper, can make its way down the

pipe---

with this plunger, he will exorcise

all the excreta, all the stool, all the

drippings, droppings & sweaty

fecal matter, that’s been deemed

without conscious consent

to be not worthy of this day, this

24 hour period, here in

sweet sweet evolution.