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.