A Fart In A Dojo

I have always wanted to write a poem

about a fart in a dojo,

but never embarked till now,

when I feel it part of my destiny.

What is it keeps us from realizing

our deepest ambitions and longings?

you wonder, or not-- maybe you’d rather 

get straight to the fart.

In case it’s the latter: I’ve heard a good few,

usually when doing ground work—

two players struggling with all their might,

and one goes rip, like a torn sheet;

then sometimes again: rip, rip.

That's all. I'm complete.