Art = Truth = Life

I thought I'd use the massive popularity of this blog to showcase some of my poetry. Bear with me, this one is still a work in progress. I was really trying to evoke the fragility of the human condition, and explore the notion that what we perceive as "reality" is so much more than "subjective", it's actually "truth".


CONFIGURATE
by Duncan Pelletier (should I go all lower case, cummings style? What do you think? either way...)

My butt poops
with a farty smell.
The shit is a poop
and looks like brown.
Rich, dark,
chocolatey turds.
I am poop,
poop is me and we are married
eternal
like a sacrament.
I likey poop farts
and bum-bum squeezies
with logs performing an exodus
from my hole (butt-hole)
to splash into a porcelain sea.
The beauty of shit.
The fragrance of balls.
Balls and shit poop are hairy,
hairy poop chunks.
Puke on the shit.
Mix the puke-shit with balls.
Wipe my balls on a hobo.
Are we?
We are, so very much,
a poop butt.
Fart a shit in a butt butt poop dick.
Also, boobs.


So what do you guys think? This is only a 5th draft, so go easy. Let me know.