Unspoken Profundities of the Universe by Michael South

It has never been said 
That shouting at yellow balls 
Bouncing off Saturn’s rings 
Could make one feel incontinent 
Especially among esoteric circles 
Of insolent plumbers
It has never been stipulated 
Within the orthodox doctrines 
Of affectionate proctologists 
To disallow promiscuous probes 
From visiting the murky estuaries 
Of Uranus
Even periodically 
It has never been debated 
Whether pubic hair straighteners 
Applied to the bald mounds of Mars 
Are beneficial to the curly soul 
This having been misunderstood 
By interstellar barbers 
Who typically migrate there 
With stampedes of embarrassed sloths
And though contrary 
To what wise men have yet to surmise 
It is our sophisticated illiteracy 
That ultimately compels us 
To cross-examine 
The wastepaper baskets of Venus 
And lick the stale ink 
From abandoned navels 
And unread car manuals
But it never remains unmentioned
That prepubescent grandmothers 
Have kept closed-mouthed 
Regarding their casual urinations 
Into the eye of Jupiter’s hurricane 
Inferring that all great storms 
Are impious enough 
To turn counterclockwise 
Just as the disgruntled waters 
Of our earthly toilets
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