"bottoming" poems
72 hours in
I'm giving serious thought to
drinking the Listerine.
The ***** is it's citrus flavored.
I can't even rinse with that toxic concoction, let alone swallow it,
but I'm running out of options.
I finished my other MacGyvers--
the Nyquil was first to go,
followed by a Dimetapp chaser
(the cherry,
not a refreshing grape-flavored one)
and a shot of Wal-fed
that induced indigestion.
My kingdom for a belt of whiskey--
maybe a snifter of ***
You know you're bottoming out
when you wax nostalgic
for drunken days
when soiling yourself was justifiable
due to your general state of disarray.
I'm the **** that adheres to the bottom of the barrel—
******* in the shower with my shoes on,
pants removed as a cautionary measure.
Not that life can get worse;
nothing trumps waking up miserable,
sore,
jobless,
alone,
queasy,
woozy and
drooling uncontrollably
and lacking ***** to blame it on.
Sep 20, 2012
Sep 20, 2012 at 11:51 PM UTC
The night never runs dry
the full moon is super cool
so are the bubbling stars
on the banks of the sea rivers!
The next stop is starry fair
but there is a catch to hop up there.
You got to do that
meet the condition of the night:
Ambling like it down the full moon
with blindfolded eyes!
You can ask how long
but ask not why.
For the length of time
think of walking it away
until the nightingale chimes out
upon the rose bottoming out of the night.
And for not asking why
because the Moon in the dark
never loses its sway!
Oct 10, 2019
Oct 10, 2019 at 5:46 PM UTC
ANAL-RETENTIVE
(Pea-Brains & Fecal-Matters)
There’s obvious precautions
For a ditsy-twerk’s ‘bottoming’
Cleanliness is the foremost-thing
Fore & aft, as a sailor might put-it
Don’t put that ****** away, just yet
When the Fleets in & the play’s the
thing, be smart & cautionary & clean
May end-up with a nasty sphincter
Where anyone would rather-not like
to sit upon, either, ever, & never
An oz. of precaution is worth a lb.
of cure & the cure might-be a worst
disaster than ever it’s antidote
— Ray Laccetti
May 17, 2019
May 17, 2019 at 9:56 AM UTC
Please stop making me love you. And while you're at it, please stop making me like you. It's hard enough to count sheep without seeing you like a wolf, disguised as innocent but ready to skin me alive when I get close.
Now and then, I scratch at the paint on the wall by my bed and observe how easily it flakes off, and I wondered if I had spent anymore time scratching your back would your skin finally start to peel so that I could see the darkness beneath it.
Now and again I savor the feeling of my stomach bottoming out when I lose my footing while stumbling down the stairs in a halfway alternate reality that starts and ends with strands of your hair in my mouth and in between my fingers. Give me the strength to love you and I will give you my unloved dog-like devotion.
I've played my cards and I've got no more hands, but I don't mind you shuffling your deck and using my back as a poker table. Come over and talk to me sometime, and you can break my neck and talk about the weather and **** time by killing me. The stars are beginning to lose their shape and soon the sun will push them all aside and I cannot wait. I never was afraid of the dark, but I'm terrified of you.
Nov 5, 2013
Nov 5, 2013 at 3:29 PM UTC
My moods drain me down
To some immoderate sluice-gate,
They run down the grainy windows,
Clog the sand in the top of the hour-glass
Like bat's tears, like misplaced rainstorms
Looking for a cloud to hang out under.
All my temperaments are accidental,
Wrongly placed; too early or too late
Miscarriages of intention,
Predicaments of inattention.
All the inconsequential moments I inhabit,
I'm wearing thin, from changing my mind too often-
Why is there no groove for thinking,
No energy-saving secret gear?
Sometimes I sit absolutely still
In an uncomfortable position,
Hoping the powers that be will notice me;
Will see that I'm going nowhere, so slowly
And they will send some tempest to help move me along.
I'm also afraid they will send change;
The paralytic not only can't move,
He knows he can never move,
And his biggest fear
Is being thought capable of movement.
In that rapid swirling down the drain,
He wants someone to snag him on a branch,
Save and reclaim his manhood;
Not sit in a tree and watch him spiraling,
While repeating over and over,
Why don't you save yourself?
He knows it's too late for words;
The tears only add to the swelling river.
And if once I thought there was a savior on every corner,
I guess I just got tired of waiting-
Because the ones in the mirror only close their eyes now.
Normalcy both appalls and comforts me-
Why does it all appear so average,
As you go sprawling head first over the falls:
You know nobody elses life will change one iota,
And you know you're just paying some bill
You never even saw.
Aug 25, 2010
Aug 25, 2010 at 4:32 PM UTC
Thanks for the kind
Suggestion is vain as the
Reality may be
Rags do come handy
Rest in peace the more Dusty
Ill compared beyond
Yes miraculous
Contrast where you are quit trite
Accomplished lie
As with mine same way
Inextricably linked
With our great failures
Oh ya you are more
Singular Menage de Trio
Topsy Bottoming
Oct 16, 2012
Oct 16, 2012 at 11:57 PM UTC
woke up this morning seeing clips
stale taste of *** on my lips
just a few more ***** sips
listening to the lines and scripts
trying to remember the feel of his hips
exploring the swells and dips
reliving the sin feels like whips
his eyes on me as he watched me strip
each layer of clothing slips
and with each ****** my breath rips
from my lungs with a heartbeat, slips,
white knuckled headboard grips
in the sweat passion drips
look around desperate the room tips
the needle on the record skips
i'm losing the game you have my chips
bottoming out starting to trip
alas,
pretty boys sink ships
Oct 18, 2011
Oct 18, 2011 at 6:32 AM UTC
Quietly loving you, quietly holding my heart in your hands
Sitting under this leaking roof, gripping each others hands
Running my fingers through your short, black, hair
You wrap your arms around me, sweat, breath
Eyes telling me something words cannot, never will
Your breath has a voice of its own, drowning my mind
Spinning my body down to ground level, bottoming out
Resting shoulder blades on these old floor boards
Hearing the groaning of this dusty house
But this stillness overwhelms me, compounding my reflections
Wasting notepad upon notepad, trying to describe these nights with you
Balling up countless verses, throwing them in a pile
Waiting for this roof to cave in one day, so we can watch the sunrise
From the warmth of our blankets on the floor
May 8, 2011
May 8, 2011 at 1:00 AM UTC
"I love the sound of rain on the roof of a car, knowing you're inside, warm and dry" my father once said to me
"Until you get out," I responded, gazing into the night
"Until you get out," he confirmed.
And in that moment, on that rainy August night
I realized he was my car, keeping me dry from a world of rain
And at 19 I am starting to open the door,
Put my feet on the ground and try to keep them from getting wet
But home is always there
Whether I sit in the car and wait
or run outside, trying to beat the cloud from bottoming out
The world from bottoming out
To hell with metaphors
To similes and references
I don't need rain
Or an old camry
To describe how my father has always been there
To protect and shelter
And teach me to appreciate the little things
That you don't need much to be happy
And to work hard, earn that car that sits in your driveway
And lets you listen to the rain on the roof
And for a moment, just a moment
Time stands still
Like a raindrop descending from the clouds
And making its way all the way to the ground
Running down the windshield
Tracing the trail it leaves behind with my eyes
And while the world is waiting for that raindrop
I am just happy to sit and listen to the rain
With the man who taught me that when the rain does come
To sit in the car and listen to it with the people that you love.
Sep 28, 2017
Sep 28, 2017 at 3:59 PM UTC
Why does it even matter?
Between dental plaque and bottoming for life. Pizza crumbs and watery rice. I am soo special and lucky but I can't feel it because I never wanted to be small until I couldn't be anymore
Dec 11, 2024
Dec 11, 2024 at 4:28 PM UTC
I hate the fact that
you ruined so many things for me.
Every album you played
while I drove you home
(which made me late for work)
while you showered
(to avoid apologizing)
while I was slowly waking up
(much earlier than preferred)
make up the soundtrack
to every awful thing you made me do.
I hate that when the air outside
feels like fall disguised as spring,
it smells like you laying beside me
bottoming out after a night of Jameson
and me still awake from the previous morning,
dialing the numbers to emergency responders.
I hate that black coffee and marb reds
taste like your mouth
and take me right back
to that bathroom where I hid,
waiting for you to fall asleep,
because you wouldn't let me
sleep in my own ******* bed.
I hate that
I probably still love you
after all you put me through.
Mar 27, 2018
Mar 27, 2018 at 6:59 PM UTC
I'm bottoming out again
My ********* atmosphere
Littered with notes, a minor key,
Of a melancholic symphony
An old, familiar enemy
Without the courtesy of knocking
Threatens to break down the door
Only to catch me bathing
In blood-thick self-loathing
Listening to Gorecki
Ringing out the thoughts in my head
In yet another vain attempt at description
But I'm thwarted by words
And my inability to place them in the proper order
To convey the physical sensation
Accompanying hopelessness, despair
None of which would be so bad
If it didn't feel like home
Jun 20, 2018
Jun 20, 2018 at 6:48 PM UTC