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You see how the politics leads to stomach problems
Andrew Grossman
a day of striking pain
paying for the heaping
of aspirin and alcohol,
the stomach holds my sleep
so there is a sun,
the motors keep coming
in triangle arrowheads
in processional cheers
six years the de facto beat
on steel chairs drew my stare
drumming on the walls
the scream of friendly squadrons
how did I live through it?
I lived inside, distanced
from the pink pulsing tissue
as if staked to silence
the bowels have come loose
in Oblivious Paradise
the gelatinous organs
slip viciously from the shell
revulsion toward self
revulsion toward risk
the smell of my rottenness
greets the cleaning lady’s smile