Borborygmus the Loud by Peter
Gidlund
There is a beastly thing inside of
me,
bellowing, urging, yearning for the
next meal.
My whole being is shaped by his
needs.
My legs for chasing, my paws for
strangling.
It lets out face wrenching stenches.
It poesses me for moments at a time,
commandeering my chords to let out
barbaric yawps.
Before high noon, he starts mawing
and cawing,
after I prepare a sacrifice,
he stops bugging me, and takes a
quick nap.
In an hour or two, he comes through
to pester me once more, doing his
dance,
shaking his stick, lighting my fire,
Borborymus, stomping in my stomach.
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