Stomach rumbles come with age/old folks have a pressure gauge/that sends spices, cheese, and nuts/roaring through their inner guts/and MUST there be an audience/when it ends in flatulence?
Tittle-tattle reigns supreme/from pool room right to academe/We are spied on and reported/for innocence and things most sordid/Friends and fam'ly now are snitches/so watch out for those sons of . . . glitches?
When pastors flout the law they show/the Lord is just a cameo/in their ego-sodden creed/as from mask-hood they secede/Congregations follow suit/as gospel love they prostitute.
How I loved the milkweed plant/when I was knee-high/to a hopper and could watch/the silky seeds drift by/Food for monarch butterflies/and imagination/those vagrant plant still offer me/a bit of consolation.
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