From the toilet I do write,

Finding the time in the “room” a place that feels right,

Every line, every word, and punctuation, seen with a light,

A light of a new found turd, big enough to choke a bird,

Seems with each stinky poop, my muse sees more to write…

No I don’t read, on the “john”, like others say they do,

I just write and write and hope for something new,

A new idea, a new passing thought, fleet though it is,

Don’t let it go down the drain into the tank,

I refuse to stick my hand down there; it may glow in the dark, no thanks…

So where do you do your writing & thinking,

As I do mine wherever I am making a stinking,

Fan on to pollute the world, paper in hand, or use the sink…

                             © ed – 5/2/04