Spinach Smudge

Flesh rot tree string, crushed and wiped, no one hears.

The Chicken

A clucking blurt coughs and phlegms grey brown. ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry…’, but it’s no good. It smells like a dead baby.

Phobos and Deimos

The god of war sank quickly into his silent grave, his tiny sisters, Fear and Panic, circling above him on the surface, holding vigil for their leviathan brother. A ghost, these three siblings, with no smear nor stench to betray their existence in the vacuum.

The Bowl Sausage

A haste-preventing pause, a swift slimy slip and the business is done. Satisfied that I’ve produced something worthy of merit, I gaze into the bowl to inspect when I am suddenly frozen by a chill of recognition – this oversized stool looks familiar. Where have I seen it? Suddenly I realise the answer is staring me in the face. This poo looks exactly like my semi-erect penis. I clean my bottom and slowly withdraw from the toilet area to ponder the significance of this finding.

The Barbecue

No one came to the barbecue, so I threw away all the meat in the canal. The burgers floated and tangled with a plastic bag, knotting tendrils across their bellies and rotting to stink. The toilet is blocked and no one knows why.

The Hippopotamus

“What’s wrong with this semolina?”, yawned the hippopotamus.
“It’s been left in the sun” sniggered the hairy cyclops.
The hippo closed his mouth, winced and swallowed.

The Golden Gate

A rusty bridge leaks from the San Francisco of my cheeks, smoothly, elegantly sliding across the valley. Water gushes through the channel beneath, scouring the walls and the putrid fog is lifting.

Tractor Piss

A hot spray of piss gushes from my length and echoes in the water chamber. An old tractor chugs and coughs before dropping a handful of change into the grimy liquid below.

Drag Racing

Back straight, I lit the fuse and waited. The roar of an unmuffled motorbike echoed in the bowl cavern, flame licking under the seat, then suddenly gave way to the cool swish of a bicycle pump. The poofing release was abruptly clunked by a poo plug, which then came out.

12 Inches

A record of a winter bonfire is played at half speed, the cracks and snaps become spluttering quacks as a cloud of brown lemonade crystallises beneath my bottom. The bowl wall is flecked like old wallpaper.