shrill, like a piercing pin

crumbles the inflated turd;

landing and setting off alarms

with a thud: soft touch, horrendous stink

and janitors rush in to clean

but a slippery slope makes for a

a hard fall – thud; they landed on their bottom

with much bruises, curses, whining

till the turd resurfaces; got mad,

raised eight arms, eight eyes, eight shadows

they followed the blue collared workers

home, to brainstorm on how ineffective

they were at execution,

till the heads rolled, like lava spilling

forth on cracked skin;

a pimpled face, burst,

like a balloon pops in the high sky,

and below

the restless sea, heaves, rolls, groans

as ashes pile on, rain on, leave their stain

on oceans once clean.

that’s not very nice –

cracked skin thins, pimply ones look smooth

again, their poison

reeks at the bottom

tossing, turning, trying to rid

the stink now permeating on the inside;

sediments gather and mount a challenge

arising from deep beds

tossing, turning blue collared workers

as stink infiltrates their slumber – slurp this mess

a turd waves a giant sword

crumbles on touch

when nightmarish horses

rush from ocean beds eager to take part

in a poke, a squeeze, a shout

point taken. rumbles, moans, lashes

out with turd ashes

breezing in the wind

and the air became dense, hot, livid

from sulphur strong.

tsk, tsk, too much

an uphill climb, the waves they roll,

toss, spin, churn. to vomit out the insides

till the many arms, many eyes, many shadows

see night once more. sleep, sleep.

snores, slumbers away

but the sea, the janitors,

they found firm footing when restless earth

refuses to spin another tale.

quiet down, hushed, still

then the turd lay still, laid down

flushed away into the toilet bowl, where turds go.