I wrote this poem about a fart.
the third influxion reverberated, the grim majesty of 1000 corpses.
Everyone was there.
A crawlly whaft with fingers lingered
Dark garbage* smogged the air.
The sting, not strong the sound surmundered.
the gathering: stop and stare...
They fled so fast no flundered foot
and soon the room was clear.
No basking. no glory
...its lonely at the top.
