Omphaloskepsis (navel-gazing)

One does not gaze
Using one's navel
Nor that of others too

One gazes as if
Perusing one's navel
I can and so can you.

Navel gazing 
Isn't social
It's purely about me.

It's another way
Of saying,
"I'm all there is, you see."

My wife complains
I'm introspective.
What can I say to that?

Apart from
"Is that you, Dear?
I mistook you for a hat."

My children whine
I'm selfish.
I mean my kids, not yours.

So I lash them soundly
With my tongue
And give them extra chores.

When all is quiet
In the house,
Void of my lamb and mutton

I can do
What I love best:
Staring at my button.

There really is
So much to view
Within one's fetal knot

It's an outie
Or just a simple slot.

My one
In particular
Is full of wondrous stuff.

I don't mean
Pubic follicles
Or bits of navel fluff.

And certainly
Not smegma
How would it get up there?

Unless it treked
Up from my crotch
Through all that curly hair.

No, indeed,
My own navel,
By which I mean the one

That's located
Neath my man boobs
Just below my tum

Is a constant source
Of fascination
For idlers like yours truly

Who've too much time
Upon their hands
For suchlike tomfoolery.

So if you will
Excuse me
I have a thing to do

And no, you're wrong,
I do not need
To go sit on the loo.

For my navel
Is a-calling.
I hear its plaintive cry.

And so
I bid you farewell,
A.k.a. good-bye.

1 comment:

What do you think of this shit?