How To Poop On Your Own Poem

Touching on the silver glow. When you touch it, You'll know it. It's designed to keep You running back. This Spiritual snack. Keeping you open for attack, As you sink back into the World, askew and absconded, Trying to conjure Between worried wait: The Science of the mind And the love we thought we'd find. Point me towards the house I will live in. Let me punch in the numbers and access the pin. I've guessed wrong more times than I can count. But beyond the hill, they say, is a silver glow Of limitless amount. But don't take my word for it. A little bird turd me about it.