Diarrhea Diary (Unpub)

Runny roux stains shirts, shorts, shoe: 
have I attire-rrhea…?
     It steams; it streams (from shoppes, it seems):  
perhaps I've buyer-rrhea). 
     The village watchman's stain’d his crotch -- 
the guy's got crier-rrhea.
     I note his poo's turn’d dusty, nu…?  
His...? Desert-dry-arrhea.
 
Do fluxes smell…? Don't ask; don't tell: 
You’ll get enquire-rrhea. 
     It’s true: they do. (They're torrid, too:  
some forest fire-rrhea.) 
     What skips my skivs swirls down my privs:  
I've spiral Gyre-rrhea.
     Historical proportions, ya'll:  
some Georgette Heyer-rrhea. 
 
My clothing's mess’d: I'll get undress’d. 
(Have I "I Spy"-arrhea...?)
     Still, weather's warm: I'm done no harm.  
By Jove! July-arrhea!
     Damp poop on sand I can withstand:  
that's Karch Kiraly-arrhea.
     I bet you hold I've falsehoods told:  
That’s my white lie-arrhea.
 
A further purge…? A second surge…? 
Here comes Messiah-rrhea!
     When runs appear, pray TP's near:  
apply for nigh-arrhea.
     If TP's not, abut the pot:  
expect "Oh my!"-arrhea. 
     If TP's there, most trots you'll bear.  
(Oh, fie! 2-ply-arrhea!) 
 
If I need scores (say, 24s)  
of sheets, I've Quire-rrhea.
     If but to bed I could but head,
I'd cry, "retire-rrhea!"
     O, friends: let fly your hue-an’-cry: 
I've shepherd's pie-arrhea!
     And now I see what looks like...ghee! 
(It’s turn’d to Thai-arrhea!)

 
Disgusting dregs drip down my legs: 
I've upper-thigh-arrhea.
     My "bastille"…? Storm’d...with filth unform’d:
severe Versailles-arrhea.
     One can but stare: such dysinter-
y! Why…? Wide-eyed-arrhea!
      Like frog manure, I smell of sewer:
I've Xenopi-arrhea.

None certainly will envy me 
my yippey-ki-arrhea.
     Yet, careful, you...lest Montezu- 
ma's zeta psi-arrhea
revenge enact, and you're attack’d  
post eating his tortilla
     and you're so hit with agua'd shit 
that you admit, "My eatin' it…?  
‘Twas not a good idea."