Country Music
an online journal of poetry
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A.T. Grant

 

 

COUNTRY MUSIC

 

I tongue my lung.
I hang from a rung and
I lick my lobes like a champ.

My tongue tastes so biopsy.
My tongue tastes so small-cell carcinoma.
My tongue tastes so hole cut smoke puke avenge grate.

I once tried to swallow my own tongue.
I had sent my own tongue to attack me.
I sewed my tongue into your ear as punishment.

It made me such a happy, happy boy.

 

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