Cheap beer met hollow draughts of doom, estuary
of piss and sweat that I licked from the seat
of the English Department toilet. I thought: poetically,
politically, maybe something would link to my act
of selflessly onanistic mumbo solo jumbo
flagellation that would be interpreted erotically.

Pop-eyed, I scratched my balls. Unwedged erotically
my boxers; fundamentally untrained, jumbo
in size, lowly lowing from the seat
in helpless flatulence, wishing poetically
that this endlessly symbolic estuary
of my tongue and her urine was a symbolic act.

Facts intact, tacked unto my act,
loving the self in my selfless Boeing Jumbo
flights of proto-Islamic estuary,
(Migration meets Homelessness, Motherland), poetically
where salt and water mix, tasting erotically
like stale Lite beer (but from her pulsating seat).

Like a pale, dewy raindrop on a rosebud (a seat
on a toilet in the English Department), poetically
juxtaposed like a zedonk of my soul and my act,
there was a meeting of cultures: Mumbo Jumbo
of the East meets plumbing and disdain, erotically,
hopelessly, of the Western Hemisphere. (An estuary?)

It should be noted here that I am from an estuary.
The Brits and the Bangla, mixed in riotous act,
with some American consumption (no consummation, not poetically)
thrown in. I am cross-linked, not erotically
(rather sad, that) but in cross-culture: the seat
of my history and where-I-come-from is a mixture mighty jumbo.

And so I lick pee from peehole, jumbo
fat man pervert. It doesn't do erotically,
or turns you off, but please respect my act.
Even if I'm not an epassionating estuary
of many lands and stories, seat
yourself in empathy while I minstrel on poetically.

The new estuary is of my seed and my act.
Failed and miseried erotically, I resume my seat,
jumboing beside her, and read from Milton poetically.