Things Encyclopaedias don't tell you
Where do bogies go
when you leave them be?
Do they, Dr. Einstein, cling
to the nostril wall until
dessication overbalances the force
of adhesion against gravity, and
they fall on someone's floor?
How can one equate
the working-out
of natural law with
a clean, scoured, functional nostril or
the pleasure of finger food?
poem by Michael Shepherd
Added by Poetry Lover
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