I get a feeling of discomfort, pressure
In my rear end, and I know then
It’s time to take a crap. This has been
Happening every day now
For fifty years, fifty years
In which the waste of life
Has been steadily moving,
Mounting. I keep time this way now.
I wait for the feeling and then when
It does come I do its bidding.
I wait for the sex pressure and when it comes
I try and go where it says go.
I get the same discomfort for fame
And I leave the happiness of my study
To mortify myself one more time.
I get the pressure to be a good person
And, like so many others, I take
That very self-righteous crap.
I wonder how much longer all this
Can go on but then on a very good day
I don’t much give a shit about that.