The pooets back home held fast the pooetry fort.
Papa drops loads and The Count provides support.
Doodoo Dave has vanished into a mystical-shit tower.
Working on his magical pooetry poo-powers.
Within the magical tower on the throne, he silently sits.
Contemplating dimensions, reality and all that kinda shit.
Meditation on the porcelain, days and weeks go by.
The longest dump ever known released without a cry.
In another dimension, a wizard enters a sacred cave.
It’s gloomy and damp, and his butt starts to misbehave.
He comes to an underground stream, radiating brown lights.
This is where he’ll perform the sacred poo-rites.
“I am Shizhard Wizard, here is my poo-chant!”
“Sacred river of brown, shall not be scat-scant!”
The wizard casts his nuggets into the fetid lake.
Foul smelling ripples in the water they do make.
The ripples distort reality, creating a poo-portal between existence.
A stink from the tower wafts through as if only a short distance.
Doodoo Dave feels an odd breeze on his backside.
He peers into the bowl, “I think I’m going for a ride.”
This bridge between dimensions pulls at Doodoo Dave’s cheeks.
Similarly, The Wizard is being drawn into the shitty creek.
A stinky force sucks the pooets into the mystical doorway.
Momentarily vanished into the swirling brown sorbet.
As they pass through worlds their souls’ meld and combine.
Their very beings and personas of poo become entwined.
In a cloud of fart dust and a burst of brown light…
The pooets share each other’s powers of mung might.
Now in the darkness, a match they both strike.
And with that, the inter-dimensional stink is smite.
Doodoo Dave realises he’s standing beside a brown lake.
And The Wizard sits on a toilet, a poo he now makes.
The two have swapped bodies, yet they share one mind.
Their mission is to write magical pooetry from their behind.