A river runs through my ass,
a ball of worlds.
Pissing and shitting,
a Neanderthal of time.
A ball of worlds. The owner of words.
Perhaps a turd.
An invitation to intellectualism.
A turd. A toilet.
A turd and a toilet,
I dig for survivors.
In the face of things
I again survive,
even watch the sunrise,
my farthest Laura of the Petrarch.
The intellectualism hast not survived,
I am Son of Man.
Amended. Amended.
A toilet. A toilet.
– from Antipoémus
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