Non-Erotic PoetryThe Sound of GravityHat me my going,
it’s almost today.
If the recent present
walks ten steps sideways,
will the army be able to
put down the intermission?
Mirror my potatoes
into a tire pump.
Meanwhile in the back of the mind
the boys are sittin’ ‘round making
headlights out of spit.
Island on ground level
to sell headlights to
dry mouths for all the barf
that fills a confessional on
it’s way to the indictment.
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