“Why do poets always talk about the ocean’s waves,
about their single file march to shore,
and yet never talk about my grandmother’s farts,
which arrive in time, one after the other, with equal regularity?”
“Sully strains to say his phrases,
sickened by the sounds he raises,
strings of thoughts come out in knots,
he solves his sentences like mazes.
At night, he writes his thoughts instead
and sighs as they steadily rush from his head.”
“I could tell you an interesting fact to get you nodding, Like how carpets were first made in the hopes that all of the world’s grass would one day be replaced by carpets, or, as they called them, ‘comfy grass.‘”
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