Call me Michael
Martone, the earth's crust
I am the tectonic plate left jagged
by the rumblings and shakes I
cough up daily after
a breakfast of pigeons and turkeys and
ostrich
birds sucked whole by the sucking sound
fwoop, and you'll know ever more
Indiana was here, Indiana's fault
the Indiana Fault line of my cranium
I am at fault
call me Michael Martone, I
am the tyranny of evil ink
I am to blame for the coughed up feathers
in the kitchen sink
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