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Pooetry

The Brown Hurl

The moment has arrived, it’s finally here.
A bog brewing for hours of that I now fear.

No wind, no warning to get things started.
Just the filth in my bowels suddenly departed.

With an enormous noise and some mighty commotion.
The bowl now filled with a surly brown ocean.

A brown ocean is no exaggeration.
With floaters so big, I’m surprised of their creation.

Things of this size were not meant for this world.
And thus I must leave before I hurl.

Pure Pooetry

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