the sieve and the sand

Leaving the wheat with the chaff. This is not your mother’s poetry.

Tag: toot

the depth of my consternation

by Roger Mugs

until the wind stops blowing
and for fear of losing the hair
off the top of the back of my
legs to the mere force of the
breeze

i should lay off the beans

on being a gluten glutton

by Roger Mugs

its tough on the digestivies
makes the family
mad
as i passes
the gasses

Gentlemen Acting Silly (the basis for our desire to mine natural gas)

by Roger Mugs

forgets the stage
ya’ll to whom i’m talking
quietly sneaks away to semi private room
toots
laughs that it can be called that
toots again
smiles
runs and then looks back
finds people ogling the word
t
o
oo
o
t
transient
olfactory
orifice
transmission

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