The bubbles pass
Like pebbles through an hour glass
Peeking out of your ass.
Their round with sound coming down
Slow, in a row, pretend like you don't know.
The silence is discreet,
The violence is defeat
Sometimes attempting a comic relief.
Farts are like art that tear you apart
In a strange display
Telling the others what you ate that day.
You choose not to share what you put in the air
But your belly down there has to put it somewhere.
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