Life is the accumulation of excrement
In some stinking pit in the earth, fecund
With other people's rot; fertility grabs the lot,
And mushrooms bloom in their first red
Pubescence, fiery little pimples burst
From the muck. Pigs root around in the mud,
Looking for acorns to crunch with their brine-
White teeth; flatulence, grunting, belches a scent
To high heaven; the wind wrinkles its nose
And breaks up the filth, which scatters
Like particles of dust and washes
Over the shores of the clouds. Satyrs appear
And dance up storms, visages portentious
Peer down through the gloom; a cake of fresh mud
Floods across the earth, sating the wretched 'shrooms
Hunger, which we harvest, first catch of our ignorance,
Devouring, discovering: illuminations bloom.