Hail the Bladder God

Who knew that my etchings twenty years ago – would be real,

lovecraftian bladder god, demon of the eternal piss,

constant cutting of my internal hard strings,

I now sing your praises at the white urinal church

in constant change against the amorphous balloon

with its knock-knock-knock – the sign of change on the door

that comes with every dump and refill,

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