Gurgling in the belly,

the song of hunger.

Squinting into the sun,

buckled in the speeding car,

measuring life, smelling time,

I hunch over with feeble coughs,

sniffing, wheezing, hacking out

gobs of mucous, like a man does,

then falling through the darkness

I understand the relevance of God, for some,

like flowing through dreams and gurgling.

The stain of lunch upon my chin,

I wonder if I will speed into oblivion,

into the timeless void,

choking on an undigested hoagie.

I see stars, not angels.

They sleep in the daytime

so they cannot warn me

not to eat and drive.

Perhaps I will gurgle myself

into extinction.

Life is made up of sobs, sniffles, and smiles, with sniffles predominating

 – O. Henry

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