Day 13

Everyone knows about the beer shits. You solo

a case of whatever’s on sale, then scarf down

half a dozen 60 cent tacos—the ones filled

with sour cream, shredded cheese, day-old lettuce,

and a beef-like mix of ground meat. You probably

lose some in the sink when you’re swishing

Listerine, too lazy to brush your teeth. Then,

in the morning, you spend 20 minutes on the can,

reverse-slurping out your ass.

What you don’t know

is how much that fucks up your intake: about 3/4 liquid,

1/4 solid…no, my intake. My intake’s that fucked up.

That’s why, after week of solid food and zero booze,

I’m shitting boulders.

No, really, I’m not

physically capable of passing this fecal quartz,

these intestinal stalactites. They’re inhuman.

Never thought I’d want a drink just so

I could have a normal shit again.

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