I just released a massive deuce.
A mushy mound from my caboose.

But this wasn’t just any sour mash.
It piled on up and was quite abstract.

It formed the shape of a pooramid.
And filled the bowl right up to the lid.

Never before had I seen such beauty.
A work of art made entirely of doodie.

It had a sheen that glimmered so bright.
But when I sniffed I turned deathly white.

I had to flush the magnificent structure.
Before my insides began to rupture.

So I said goodbye to my pooramid.
But it shall live on because it left a skid.