Modern poem about poop

[Brownlie]

This porcelain throne is such a humble seat
Yet, when I'm here  my muse is in my nose,
impressing with the pages of my book.
It is much clearer than a sunburst bird
when carpe diem forms in a dense ball
and plops below me in a shaded lake.
Imagine then my ecstasy 
As harsh tears pour above a verbal crown
and the Ganges form below my knees.
I glean the primal excrements of art
and wipe ye dumpling on my face
become possessed by sulfurous spume
and see the Indus that I've never seen.