I plunge my mind in filth, and what appears?
Some shit that rhymes and jingles like a song
A sonnet bathed in putrid shit for years
Can only come from words that don’t belong
Profanity is quite the fucking verse
It sounds like holy scripture or a fart
Though neither one is better, both are worse
And move until they find the life of art
Take five iambs and shove them up your ass
In fourteen days you’ll crap a sonnet out
The stench will linger on in methane gas
No matter what your sonnet is about
Then wipe the joy of filth like fecal ink
And flush it to the cesspools where we think.