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All poems untitled except for “Irritant.”


Infectious shopping,

Touching each and every aisle,

Eyeballs red from spree.


Broken hour hand,

Minutes working,

Face it,

Time goes on.



In a submarine,

Is borderline,


In a broader,

Line of instances,

With ordinary marines.


The open

Gate was

Close to






The word for which I’ve been searching,

Elbow pinned to the ribs,

Arm bent,

Hand hooked,

Tickle down my throat – reach,

Full extension, full definition,

No sensations of nausea,

Anger or frustration are naught,

No flare ups from below,

Listening is painful, full of panic,

I brace and am braced,

The prognosis fiendishly provides and describes my intestinal chains.

Dan Jones

Author Dan Jones

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