I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered toilet lies, whose commode
And blasted lid, and veneer of cold and crusted poop
Tell that its sculptor well those movements read
Which yet survive, sloppped on these lifeless things,
The hand that wiped them and the anus that bled.
And on the pedestal these words appear:
"My name is Doktor Howl, King of Tucson:
Look on my poop, ye Mighty, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The loose and level turds stretch far away.