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- Non-Erotic Poetry
- Compulsive Whir
Poem Info
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there is a compulsive whir
from the fan in my computer.
a distant tinkling of windchimes
on my porch.
the wind is cool and mild
and it's about 75 degrees outside.
my cats in the window
watching the birds flap
frenetic wings, me click clacking
again on keys like the sound of toy
machine gun fire pelting the
back board of my brain.
i think to myself [aloud, on paper]
'i spill my guts too often.'
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