Thursday, May 26, 2016

I'm Something Alright

I’m 30% farts.
I figured it out.
Last night, as I sat,
on my couch,

I’m only 70% man,
and of that 70%,
60% is water. My blood
 is 92% water,
My brain and muscles are 75% water.

My bones are about 22% water,
but the rest of me,
is farts.
A regular King Toot.
Gastro Dominus Rex.

The music of my ass,
my stinky children of the night,
howling, roaring, sputtering,
making me laugh in spite of
how gross.

I’m Vladimir Pootin,
of my own private Russia,
in the reluctant bachelor pad,
tree top high over the streets.
Where my flatulence goes unheard.

So I’m mostly farts, and I’m sure
you are too. We’re all little methane
pumps carving out our own little clouds
of poison when no one is looking or

Unless you have friends who think it’s
as funny as we do and we become a
veritable horn section of some
symphony played in memory of meals
once eaten.   

We’re all just farts in the breeze,
in a philosophical sense. Some of us are
loud, stinky, sloppy, sweaty, quiet, mousy,
aggressive, hilarious, dangerous, and we never
last longer than the breeze blows.

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