So is L=A=N=G=U=A=G=E poetry a pile of poo?

It was not precisely a pile o' poo, but perhaps a wee bit pongy.

Ah, Oriane, so now you know the distinctive pungent pong of the wombat's jockstrap!

And how strange it is that this powerful and unusual stench which lately fills the radical halls of academe, should so wonderfully mimic the vapours emanating from the daggy-bummed Ozzie marsupial's support garment. But Nature is full of such wonders, I suppose.