"anatomical" poems
My ****** betrays me
It yearns to be touched, kissed, caressed
Drawn to the point of ecstasy
But perhaps lingering at the edge
To relish the pleasure for a moment
A moment
Longer
My ****** betrays me
Always wanting more
More
More
Never consolidating with the others parts
The brain
The heart
And we are not speaking in terms of anatomical correctness
No, but in terms of
Emotions
I said it
My ****** betrays me
My heart yearns
They argue
The heart wants intimacy, human touch, connection
The feeling of looking into the eyes of another and knowing
In that instant
That second
That moment
Everything is okay
And even if it isn’t
It doesn’t matter
Nothing will matter
Except
This
Moment
My ****** betrays me
My heart yearns
And they argue
But my brain
My logic
The voices within
They speak up, naturally of course
Please the ****** for the night
Intimacy
Ha
Intimacy
Have you looked inside
For your insides are as hideous as the out
Do not believe otherwise
My ****** betrays me
My heart yearns
They argue
But my brain
My brain does the most damage
It controls them all
The betrayal, the yearning
My brain betrays me
My brain wants what it cannot ever have
My brain desires things so far from its reach
My brain imagines the impossible
Love
My ****** betrays me
My heart yearns
They argue
Then my brain
My brain goes off
Thoughts passing by at the speed of light
Each one, so very important
My brain is in charge.
It supplies the salty wetness that falls from my eyes
The emptiness I feel within
My ****** betrays me
My heart yearns
They argue
But my brain
My brain destroys all
My brain burns the cities down
The dreams
Dashed against the rocks
My desires
Meaninglessly quenched
My emptiness
Forever there
My brain betrays me
My brain yearns
And within, is an argument
Within
Within is the problem
No one will ever know, So fear not
Let the brain betray
Let it yearn
For the mouth
Perhaps, that is who really is in charge
The mouth shall not betray
The eyes may
The eyes do
But who catches them long enough to see inside?
No one has, No one will
My brain betrays me
My brain yearns
An argument, within
But my mouth
Shall
Never
Betray
Me
It shall remain closed
Sealed tight
Strongest of clay bricks
Guarding my secrets
Guarding what lies within
The confines of my soul
Emotions
Emotions betray me
Emotions yearn
Emotions cause me to argue within
But my mouth
My
Mouth
Shall
Remain
Loyal
Feb 12, 2013
Feb 12, 2013 at 11:03 PM UTC
Gendering Woman *******
Beautiful, anatomical part // Ugly, anatomical part
Natural, pleasurable // Burdensome, loathsome
Female Symbolic // Femme Symbolic
MALIGNANT HEALTHY
fearful, tearful, wretched // joyful, hopeful, euphoric,
bereft, wept, grieving // embryonic, rapt, relieving
leaving, loss // believing, gain
m a y b e - d e a t h r e - b i r t h
BI-LATERAL
MASTECTOMIES
Operating Theatre
SURGEON ANAESTHETIST
cleaning/ cutting/ knife/ scalpel // doping/ unconscious/ airway
blood / tissue // hypotension
loss/ damage // shock
drains // sinus rhythm
stitches // pain deadening
tight binding // reversal drugs
POST-OPERATIVE
a l i v e a w a k e
draining, bound & stitched draining, bound & stitched
DRAINED
~ UNBOUND
-- UNSTITCHED –
Empty chest Flat Chest
FREEDOM from Disease FREEDOM from Dis-ease
© M.L.Emmett
May 19, 2016
May 19, 2016 at 12:28 PM UTC
grinding myself hard onto your unzipped pants
i imagine clipping into your body and
shattering your programming
our lips meander into each other breaking
california law,
and simultaneously
finding anatomical peace
your **** thrusts through slacks an angry fist
and I wonder how eager my mouth looks on you
******* the decade between us
bridging the age gap with a rope of *****
lip to ***** in awe that I am
capable of making you ***
silly and heavy with excited hands
i fumble with my pants,
tucking my knees into my chest to slide them off my feet
my stomach disobeys me, spilling out
holding onto something desirable of mine so tight
you crush my fleeting abstinence
Jan 11, 2015
Jan 11, 2015 at 7:54 PM UTC
Renaissance Man
mathematician, painter and poet
a genius of an engineer
I wish I could have met the man
or even better if he were here
I would follow him everywhere
absorbing as much as I could
trying to collect his brilliance in a jar
you know most surely I would
his curiosity and imagination
equaled by few mortals ever known
his feats of undeniable skills
his seeds of desire forever grown
the anatomical research he started
unequaled technological ingenuity
the beautiful Mona Lisa's face
the Last Supper reflects his ASSIDUITY
the creator of simple bobbin winder
the theory of plate tectonics
solar power and hydrodynamics too
his thoughts on moving robotics
yes he was a marvelous genius
his love of life will live on forever
sharing his unending reaching mind
we can marvel at this man together
Gomer LePoet ....
Dec 1, 2013
Dec 1, 2013 at 11:40 AM UTC
I lose myself in your orbitals
whenever they focus on me.
I want to bury my cephalic
in the crevice of your cervical.
I long to keep your brachials
around my dorsum.
You have
amazing scapulars.
Thoracic to thoracic.
Or our palmars intertwined.
Digitals tracing patterns
on each other's abdominals.
Press your oral to my buccal
and we'll see how this goes.
Jul 1, 2014
Jul 1, 2014 at 6:19 AM UTC
wind's cool lips envelop and chill
protruding listeners, speckled stamps
on crinkled noses
or sun-bit, stacked vertebrae
dabbing each one, I count the
anatomical stars, fibers of you
glancing over with the brim of
my own beginning, parted just so
maps unwind, sighing deeply
but robustly seducing the depths
of our curiosity, condemning
Apr 12, 2013
Apr 12, 2013 at 3:58 PM UTC
moment to moment
we are the sum total of
our chemicals
we think of ourselves
we think of others
as an average of our
time and spacial synergy
an anatomical amalgam
a biological brine
frankensteins with
personalities, commonalities and
unique agendas
sprinkled with neuroses that
range from microscopic to
catastrophic, whether
chemical reaction or
hyperbolic extraction
you can choose to
canonize or demonize
as long as you can
recognize
the flesh and the blood
versus the fantasized
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 1:46 AM UTC
They came one day from where I know not.
Unholy structures came to ground, certainly from another world.
They wasted nothing of their time to cast affliction upon us.
We ran away in terror in certain fear of our own lives.
Many were seized and thrown into confinement, others inspected and probed, many of us were taken away and subjected to internal examination even dismemberment, anatomical scrutiny.
We had become the source of food for our invaders.
Additional crafts came from the heavens joining their forbears.
Havoc was extreme as their weapons did their worst creating carnage in every different direction.
They lay waste to every surface and their vehicles cast out foul pollutants which poisoned the very air we breath.
Our world was quickly becoming an inhabitable, desolate disconsolate place and extinction our future.
Some of the braver of us tried to fight back but this alien nation had weapons and tools the like of nothing we had ever seen.
The lucky ones escaped into the nether regions and watched from afar as piece by burning piece their birthplaces were destroyed.
These Humans intend to colonise all that they see and our world will never be the same place again.
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 2:23 PM UTC
Sings hymns to appease the wrath of the gods.
Plough the fallowed ground and acknowledge that feminine seductions are the source of interplanetary equilibrium.
Is that the best that you have got? Well, we know your wiles and will not succumb to your enticements, despite those expectations of the authorities.
A wet orifice certainly comes at a price, yet her warmth contains forbidden properties in the face of ritualistic defiance.
So, my heavenly being, I urge you to bow the knee in humble adoration to your anatomical deceptions.
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 3:41 PM UTC
she huddles in
tormented pose
working like a fiend
on her oeuvre’s
final piece
the anatomical agony
of horizontal necks
the three shades
the souls of the ******
abandon all hope ye who enter this mind
the words run
in the shadow of her face
years and years
the pyre’s ash
tormented her features
until her skin turned
grey like the sky
abandon all hope ye who enter
she lost her mind
somewhere in the fire
abandon all hope
on that day
she cried for the sun
abandon
she huddles in
her loose skin
the oils of her flesh
embodying the paints
staining the woman
she once was
Mar 11, 2016
Mar 11, 2016 at 9:27 AM UTC
my reflection, anatomical inaccuracy reads something like:
fairy dust in a silt layer, bones all shattered at the press of her fingers, and for months I molded a sandcastle around the soft
sinking, drinking ichor from a cocktail glass and dragging nails across my discomfort -
did you see that girl taking a tempest inside herself, to warp her sinew, spreading from this side of the universe to other?
in the lamplight I bit a secret onto the ridge of her spine; sometimes I sleep near fires hoping my insides become glass
Feb 19, 2016
Feb 19, 2016 at 8:48 PM UTC
Black lagoon brain pools,
Drown me in our retrograde...
Long and tactful tentacles ...
To catch my anatomical....
Retracting my soul from your memory tubes.
Painting our moments in shades of black.
Disappearing phantom laughs...
And lucid nightmares follow me to sleep.
Ghostly appendages wrapping me tight.
Ensnared by his tragical hold,
Farewell snap shots are never enough.
Goodnight static dream tracer.
Your everywhere is no where now.
Oct 23, 2012
Oct 23, 2012 at 4:50 PM UTC
Sweltering insurgencies of electric power chords
Tribal reverberations of skin-stretched drum boards
Rolling and filling; syncopating the noise
Of the tit-less toys
The dick-less boys
Enraptured in the music
The anthem
Of invidious phantoms
My eyes hurt inside and
I want to pull them out and
Scrape out the gunk and rust
that’s behind my self-indulgent perseverance
so I can cry
for the first time in years…
Wrapping my hands around his slender torso
Licking away the paint, the dripping ooze; more so
Than hastening my ****** and mordant urges
To bite what emerges
And my mouth purges
The obelisk from underneath
The iron-pierced jester
The voracious molester
My hand tightens as I grip
his throat tighter and
I want to squeeze until his eyes pop
from his sockets and
laugh until I puke against the walls,
watching the ****** fluids mix
like an execrable marinara sauce…
I turned thirty while still being sixteen
The vivid beauty of the world was only in dreams
But none of mine, none that I can recall
Many years have passed since I took the oral fall
Where no one saw
Intransigent need to live
For the snake in my veins hungered for more
So many had their way
until I was limp and sore.
Defamatory fingers of mire and strife
Probing and stretching
My insides
And devilishly comforting
With limpid ambrosia
That’s infected by bilious worms and maggots covered in icing
And fruit
Amatory gauntlets fastened and secured over
Handless limbs that retract under matriculated frictions
That fracture, crack, morph, distort
Emphasize, marginalize
Rationalize, desensitize
Acts of *********** evasion, moral drainage;
Pieces, bits, chunks, sections, portions, servings;
Arms, legs, eyes, tongues, fingers, toes,
Love, lust, infatuation
Adoration
Boys, girls, women, men,
Angels, demons, monsters, humans
Creators, gods, titans, divas
All extended and limited from the minds that worship
Sanctify, mesmerize, glorify, rectify
While humans eat more, love more, **** more
Than the angels, demons, monsters, and titans
We ponder and cherish
Nevermore, for me
Ever lore, for all
Crows surround
And chaos found.
Apr 22, 2013
Apr 22, 2013 at 11:11 PM UTC
I didn’t hand it over
I neglected to sign a consent
I never said you could yet you did anyway
a cavity within my chest
anatomical rather than cliché
the mask told me it’s a ventricle then I stuttered okay
hollowed inside thick walls
it gathers substance productively
like a strawberry picker but the berries are smashed
Jul 28, 2014
Jul 28, 2014 at 9:46 PM UTC
Clockwork child with neon eyes
you've seen so many things
the death of man and fallen skies
and winter born of spring
Your clockwork mind predicted all
but man was far too dumb
to heed your words upon the wall
and so you just kept sthum
Your clockwork heart broke like a Child
as nature payed the price
and now the dead are neatly piled
beneath a world of ice
May 13, 2013
May 13, 2013 at 9:03 AM UTC
Let us contemplate the superiority of striking presumption, as it seeks to pontificate the order of architectural allegiance.
Oh, Grand Master of Greco-Roman antiquity, I bow before the sacred volumes of legal pronouncement where unseen rituals tangibly assert their authority over those who seek to embrace the ancient pathways of knowledge.
As the degrees of freedom transcend the definition of a mere mathematical concept, we must never forget the formulations of our Hellenistic forefathers who chiselled the shape of the Order into the annals of the future.
As we give thanks to Set, we acknowledge the blindfolded ceremonies of sibling homicide which encourage wisdom in this circular lodge of self-binding.
Harpocrates is our God of silence who gained sustenance from feminine anatomical structures – and we are like Isis who has been impregnated by Osiris.
So, as we cast our gaze beyond the rites of this ****** union, let us acknowledge those ***** masonry structures of obelisk stability.
Have you been born yet?
Jun 10, 2015
Jun 10, 2015 at 10:35 PM UTC
Oh clockwork child with inkwell eyes
that penned mens doubts in promised lies
and watched as all that's born now dies
for nothing more than greed
Oh clockwork child with parchment hands
that mapped the hearts of war torn lands
and bleached the blood stained foreign sands
where children came to bleed
Oh clockwork child with torn page skin
that kept the scores of all mens sin
of wars they lost they could not win
as if they gave a ****
Oh clockwork child with gilt edged breath
who's whispers were the screams of death
that Rose the corpses from the depths
to herald the end of man
May 14, 2013
May 14, 2013 at 10:57 AM UTC
Isn’t it funny how
you speak to me the most
when your lips are silent.
Isn’t it funny how
your eyes can recite the soliloquies
of your soul.
Your communication does not need to be audible
for it to be understood.
Your words don’t need to be spoken
for me to fathom your intentions.
The creases at the corners of your lips,
the 3 freckles on your left cheek,
the birthmark 6 inches below your right ear,
the turquoise hue from the web of veins at your wrists,
the plush ivory that is your skin;
all serenade me with the sweetest melodies and
mesmerize me with the most eloquent prose.
So please be quiet a little longer,
and let your body speak.
June 2012
Sep 12, 2012
Sep 12, 2012 at 4:02 PM UTC
Such sweet songs
Fall from faces full
Of open
Hearts holding hands.
Generally great groups gather
Quixotic questions,
Ponder personal perceptions,
Emulating ever entranced emotions.
Love loses leaps, leaves
Broad bruises bypassing
Catastrophically closed creations.
What wonder, what wildly whimsical
Rejoice remains?
In individualistic idioms.
As all allowed anatomical
Differences deal dictations,
Juxtaposed jesters join
Monstrous masterminds
Trivially tinkering, tryingly,
Near non-subjective nothingness
Under unusual
Vectors. Vivisecting voracious,
Zeppelin-esque, zygotes,
Xenophobic
Yodels yell,
**** **** kindheartedness!"
Mar 24, 2012
Mar 24, 2012 at 12:20 AM UTC
Every inch of our ceiling
is bruised in memory,
watercoloured blues
fade into last Summer's browns.
It hurts.
Night brings the poetry
I'm still trying not to trip over,
the written and spoken wounds
that mark my body
still spell out your favourite weapons:
1) Ginsberg
2) Naivety
3) Perpetuated incompleteness.
I am anatomically structured for
falling apart with one cut heart string
at a time; a countdown only I control.
One only you tick for.
One day you'll learn
that the world is made from tissue paper,
and tears as easily as I.
Dec 27, 2014
Dec 27, 2014 at 5:36 AM UTC
Aureole...Manna's descent like showering
waveforms.
Eyes hungering...upturned, cloven in rapture.
Mouth slants open in a salivary click--
come the incantations...come the
anatomical sway of microcosm.
Intergalactic cynosure, pariah, shaman--
mangy interloper teaching wind to dance!
Tamer of the subconscious...mender of schism!
Anathema to Gaia's Satanic Stewards!
To be sought in the House of Aquarius,
haunting its foundation that it may uphold.
The roads to and fro are as anagrams that
alter with the perceiver.
It is the second look, of what's cross with
what Is...and ever shall be--that gives rise
to disorientation...reincarnation.
O grant dancer of self-evidence, grant your
sundry incantations... yearning for Gaia's heart
of hearts.
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 1:21 PM UTC
love is
our unkept bed on a Sunday morning
clothes thrown on the floor
candles burned down to no wicks
sleeping off last nights tangled limbs
on the grey leather couch
infinity in crystal blue eyes
palm to palm, fingers entwined our lifelines cross
counterbalancing personalities complete the circle
protective of what is within
so familiar our anatomical embrace
we breathe shared air
beats in autotune, universe intact
Mar 29, 2021
Mar 29, 2021 at 5:12 AM UTC
fingers tapping against your thigh, music note mumblings. subtract everyone else and watch the feeling
m
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l
t
i
p
l
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disassemble and reassemble the ensemble and allocate your earnings as earnestly as you can without appearing overeager. overhearing a conspiracy between my lips and your neck. a secret isn't a secret unless you whisper it, so do it, make sure the russians don't hear us as they rush off to give reports on that look I just gave you, the one that is oh so telling. reveling in it. living in the revelation of your skin, pouring down your presence like honey, like sweet molasses dripping thick and sweet, simmering under the sun, glimmering in the water like a jewel, jealous and **** painful and dark and dazzling. beating only in anatomical hearts, out of tune, cacophony and cruel crimson, missing someone not something, left wanting and waning in the light of a lopsided moon, farsighted and fingers that prune in purple light rippling across the walls, willing to travel the planes of your body, embodied travesty traversing the sahara, dunes doomed to be swept away by the wind, breaking and kept away, each grain unable to touch one another more than once, gorgeous enough to be pain, staking your claim on misery before the misers bury it in their own backyards, backwards discovery, a convenient amnesia, believing ruses and runes to decipher in delicate dictum like tricking a language into translating itself.
almost too much of not enough.
Apr 23, 2017
Apr 23, 2017 at 12:14 PM UTC
pistachio nuts - or the clams of the the forest,
not among the helter skelter
birch tree scouting and marking territory,
but among the aged oaks
and pristine scents of pines among
the fallen pine needles in zigzag promenade -
indeed pistachio nuts like shellfish,
slightly opened ergo healthy -
clams or mussels, once opened then
healthy for the palette - still a bewilderment
to care with a hydrochloric acid cauldron
that the stomach is -
that's the prior bewilderment, the other
being this madonna-whore complex
that Anaïs Nin represents -
i've eaten a prostitute's *** (her own
anatomical definition) - indeed smothered
in creams to ease a professional approach to
a lack of relationship stimulation -
science says that eating the female *** is
like downing a range of antibiotics -
i can imagine - why is she suddenly this hailed
saint of scissors applied to a middle-class
straitjacket? what the hell is going on?
ah... i know, the longer a feeble secret is allowed
to ferment, it goes from being vinegar
to being wine to being a fruity ***** -
well shiver me timbers!
ever walk into a brothel with 7 prostitutes waiting
their bus for £110 an hour and not feel
intimidated asking for a glass of water?
i have... they eye you like hyenas,
a true spirit of solidarity that feminism forgot,
7 prostitutes eyeing you, then you say
'can one of your pick me?'
'you can't say that, it's not allowed!'
'oh, aren't you a talker, you'll do.'
every single brothel i've been too always reminds
me of Jack Daniels - i don't know why,
the burnt auburn sweetness of charcoal or something,
add the skin creams on the ****** smeared
like an insomniac creating a synthetic approach
to sleep with amitriptyline (25mg) and alcohol
and you've just bought yourself a treasure island
crucifix.
Apr 21, 2016
Apr 21, 2016 at 7:43 PM UTC
it rips my heart out
the thought of you leaving.
detatches
the trechea from my lungs
the stem of my brain
it scares the **** out of me
Jun 9, 2013
Jun 9, 2013 at 7:26 PM UTC