Stomach Malady; or On Being Unable to Barf Up Bile

I wonder if it's the hate I harbor

That makes my stomach so

Seismic and sour

God grants me grunts for hours

Then I jet for the gent's

And can't but cower

Is God goading me into doing good

With sulfurous belching?

Sins I overlooked?

But no good can come none could

While I'm restless cramping

I'll blame fish uncooked

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