Let your guts twist and shout,
shrivel inside out,
flip the record over
and pull up the curtains.
Cough up afternoon dust.
I tried to scream. All I heard were
bird chirp battles and
dogs barking across the street.
The mailman's pill-bottle rattles,
beatboxes to the hissing exhaust pipe organ,
heard three miles out.
I turned off my head,
plugged it into the charger
and let battery acid leak
all over the floor.
This young comma needs to sleep,
and throw a Z or three to the clouds,