A Xong

Excuse me as I expunge an excrement; I know it's extra rude...
But this excess is exasperating, and excruciating to exude.
Please don't get excited when I express my exultation.
If I exclaim, "I exalt this excretion!" - that may be an exaggeration.

And please do not examine it; though it's extraordinary, I expect.
But it's just an example of the exquisite extractions I can dexterously eject.
Why I'm exploiting this experience is not exactly plain.
I'm experimenting, exposing my exports... I cannot explicitly explain.

This is an exoteric piece, I just had to externalize.
But to expedite the flux, I will expire that exercise.
Ixnay on the excerpt there. I'll exchange it for this tale...
Take a Xanax for my anxiety, relax and then exhale.

You may think that I'm explosive and I think outside the box,
But from Xmas to the crucifix, I'm extremely orthodox.
Except - I'm excommunicated, and I'm lucky I still exist.
See, I had a little mix-up with a sexy exorcist.

We took an exotic excursion on an excellent equinox.
We went to explore the exosphere, and that's not a paradox.
When we returned to Oxford, we were exiled, yes, expelled!
And quite transfixed by the six-six-six that damned us both to hell.

My exorcist was an extrovert who had claimed to be an expert.
But because of his hoax we joined the exodus, exiting the earth.
The crux of the story is not complex, it's a simple axiom:
Expecially regarding oxygen, don't exceed the maximum!


The End

73 comments about this poem Feed