The smell of gases that a tiny hole throws
Is caught by the nose
A little aroma from your end-plumbing
That other noses repulse
And yours rejoice.

There is nothing remotely musical
As that little noise in your colon
Caught in a colon-burp
Accompanying a little heartbeat, a little drag of lungs
And some finger tips playing desk-music
Making a little flesh-wind instrument
Part of a small orchestra.

Some music for the silent night
Some company for the lonesome man.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.