"citric" poems
Donuts, o donuts,
Wheat Flour Enriched
Soybean,
Palm and Cottonseed Oil Hydrogenated
Vegetable Oil Partially Hydrogenated
Cocoa Processed with Alkali,
Sodium Acid Pyrophosphate
Sodium Aluminum Phosphate
Aluminum Sulfate
Salt, Dextrose, Soy Lecithin,
Guar Gum, Cellulose Gum, Tapioca Dextrin,
Corn Dextrins, Mono Diglycerides,
Citric Acid, Enzymes,
Natural & Artificial colors & flavors
Sorbic Acid and Sodium Propionate
and Potassium Sorbate
To Retain Freshness:
Eat 'em up yum.
Mar 30, 2012
Mar 30, 2012 at 2:08 PM UTC
The smells of caramel, citric fruit and bread being licked by flames,
The colour. Black. Deep and rich. As if it was oil taken from the ground,
The taste is different, bitter, and earthy, contrasted by molasses, and sweet almonds,
This is how my day begins.
Jun 16, 2015
Jun 16, 2015 at 12:39 PM UTC
How to cook carrot salad
carrot wash and clean. Grate the carrots on a coarse grater. Apple wash and grate.
apple, honey and the juice of red currants. Also add the chopped parsley and crushed nuts. All well and carefully
mix. Sitemap salad.
sprinkle with citric acid and mix. Vegetables lay heaped sprinkle with grated cheese and chopped herbs
parsley. Sitemap salad.
Heck, Cook the fish and carrots. Fish and carrots on toast to cut pieces. Cleaned fish and carrots to put in
salad bowl. In a salad bowl add the peas. In add grated horseradish mayonnaise and season with the Sitemap sauce salad.
Oct 19, 2013
Oct 19, 2013 at 6:08 PM UTC
I remember you.
Sweet, seventeen you
brand new scruffy beard
and black gym shorts
kissing me on the couch
when my parents weren't home.
Sweet, seventeen you
with those same bright eyes
and citric smile that stung the taste buds
on my tongue.
Sweet, seventeen you
drowned in sheer dumb luck and cheap Captain Morgan
(or whatever ***** it is you like to drink.)
Sweet, seventeen you
with callused hands, dirt stuck in the worry lines
and nails bit down to the bone.
Sweet, seventeen you
pushing my hair out of my face with those same ***** hands,
same reliant arms,
same crooked-tooth smile.
Sweet, seventeen you
with scared knuckles and a bare chest
just begging someone with the same youth
and vibrancy
to kiss it until the leather wore out
until the venom was ******
so you could stay sweet,
seventeen you
forever.
Nov 15, 2011
Nov 15, 2011 at 6:13 PM UTC
Sleep escapes me.
I've felt feint clues of what laid dormant in my mind for so long.
The chemical key unleashed it and now.
Now I'm consumed by it.
In the waking hours it stabs.
Stabs.
Stabs!, at the frontal cortex of my brain like a railroad spike being driven into the ground.
The tears, the feelings, they've all floated away before the coming storm.
The mixture of taurine, caffeine, sugar, and citric acid has a slight burn as it slides down my throat.
It's been raining for a month.
Everyday I walk through it.
I let the droplets drip down my lenses.
It somehow adds a small bit of feeling, a short moment of tranquillity watching them slowly stream across the front of my eyes.
I reach the cafe, the same spot everyday.
I pretend to read but I spend hours watching the ripples form on the sidewalk through window pane.
This is the second, third day without slumber.
Vision is less clear with each passing hour.
No matter, it's still there in my mind.
And now I'm in public there's no escape.
Is this all I am now? Is this all there is?
I wonder what she's doing? I wonder who she's doing?
She's so cold anyway, no passion for life.
I'm the same in some ways but at least I'm taking initiative, taking steps to improve, at least I don't settle for the mundane.
She wasn't good for you!
I keep convincing myself over and over.
The repetition itself is maddening!
Sleep escapes me.
I need sleep to escape.
She's not in my dreams anymore.
She wasn't good for me.
May 14, 2017
May 14, 2017 at 10:50 AM UTC
*sudden-bouquet
delight finds
reduction in
citric-colour*
goal-post abrupt
a million birds in a jaundiced-sky
trees bold-growing up to the edge of the cliff
a flattened mosquito on a screen
folder atop the lemon-ladder
wings all neatly spread and legs flayed
*yellow roses.. in the abbey
given away to orphans
with full-hearts*
forever-journey in honeyed-posey
S T – 01 Oct 2013
Oct 1, 2013
Oct 1, 2013 at 8:29 AM UTC
im too tired to drive now
jesus take the wheel
i will sleep for days
curled up in a ball in the backseat
of my own car
im too drunk to drive now
jesus take the wheel
my face is numb from the *******
my teeth are clenched into a smile
life gave me lemons today,
or i found a bag of citric acid
and i squirrelled it away in my eyes
jesus crawled out of a hole in the ground
and i nailed him to his place in the sky
he will bleed onto my palate
and i will be cleansed by
his desperate sweat.
Dec 20, 2011
Dec 20, 2011 at 8:14 PM UTC
I was lost so innocently in your eyes
Completely
Fooled
By love itself
So,
I guess that explains why your words
Pierced
My
Gut
And left a suffering so deep
That no drunken novelist can explain it
Like you set fire to my kidneys
Bathed my lungs in citric acid
You know
I loved you more than I had thought possible
And my fingers will
Never
Feel
So at home
Again
But it's been a pleasure to have your hands be the ones to
Rip
Apart
My chest
And break the bones that make up my rib cage
It was an honour to love you
But
This is my final tribute to you
My final goodbye
The last time I put your inflections to paper
The
Last
Time
I
Ever
Miss you
Dec 17, 2014
Dec 17, 2014 at 5:38 PM UTC
labyrinth lit by
floodlights straining
the vibrations
emanating from the
ground crusted with
glue pine sap and
citric acid a
flashlight in hand
to shine shadows
on awareness to
cast the eyes shut
and unflinching
not a twitch of
sight feeling the
coarse pig hair of
the walls shutting
out the light with
clenched lids open
palms with fiberglass
gashes staining a
path not to follow
but to inhale the
pathogenic patterns
ghosts showing us
the way towards
translucent permanence
Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 1:21 PM UTC
*All I wanted was a night out on the town with her
With all the love and adoration that I promised her
Fitted cap on my head, felt like a trend setter
A mental slap from my momma; I should’ve known better.
Picked her up, and I was starin’ at her gorgeous outfit
Her fitted top, her cotton blouse, and lookin’ fine without it
Honored to stand beside her, I didn’t mind the clues
I found her very attractive wearin’ designer shoes
Took her out to dinner, we’re conversin’,
Lobster in citric acid – she devours, thinks it’s worth it
The in-house chef comes at our table and asks,
“This is the fifth time you’ve ordered,
So can you make this your last?”
The check is at our table; I offer to pay for it
She doesn’t even glance, pullin’ out her phone
I noticed her nails; she paid a lot for ‘em
Dinner was very painful
She wants me over? I'm startin' to see her fatal halo
On our way to her place, a man was gettin’ robbed
I’m shoutin’ at the attackers - she’s actin’ very odd
Tell her to call the cops to try and get these boys to stop,
“Sorry but I’m in a hurry! I’ll see you at the spot.”
Ten minutes later I’m racin’, and knockin’ at her door,
Reachin’ her place and I notice she’s pacin’ back and forth,
She’s on the phone with a ***** who stole her ex from her
Angry detonation soon as she got a text from her
She tells a “Jada” on the phone, ***** I don’t give a ****
Jada responds “wantin' to let you know and wish you luck.”
But you can tell that she was jealous of Jada’s position
Her ex is treatin’ her better, happy with his decision
I’m wonderin’ what happened; turns out that Jada’s pregnant
“She thinks I care about that, knowin’ that I resent him!”
She claims she’s better than Jada in every single way
With self-respect and sayin’ prayers every single day
Seekin’ some validation, she’s beggin’ for a kiss
Intimate opportunity, she’s hopin’ not to miss
Her sweet, angel hazel eyes are lookin’ sour ‘cause
I’m just exhausted and feelin’ the witchin’ hour buzz
She lashes out; I see the reason why this girl is single
Admits to cheatin’ on her ex and so she’s out to mingle
Pulls out a lash and then proclaims that I should punish her?!
I’m out the door within’ seconds cause I’m so done with her!*
Apr 13, 2016
Apr 13, 2016 at 8:46 PM UTC
There are dried up splashes of juicy orange wedges,
randomly splattered across my key board, no void in
the pattern, no victim.
Careless way to eat anything near an electronic thing,
citric acid bleeding into fine circuitry do not abide side by side,
with out someone losing interest.
Carelessness is a choice like loading a gun rather
than buying a Rolls Royce. Putting a knife out of
sight, "just in case someone starts a fight" said
in the shadows of a fearful heart.
Guns and knives, guns and knives were only meant to
end lives, no self-defence, no, "sorry I won't let it happen,
again.", said by a teen with blood red-rimmed eyes but no
emotion.
Violence is a choice, poor man rich man matter naught,
you live and die in the lifestyle you sought, maybe got
more than you bargained for.
Cats have nine lives and I, like you, have only one before
the Great Hereafter, so I would rather spend it not crying
tears of grief and fill my ears with the sounds of my children' s
children laughter.
Echoes of which, resound so, even the Heavens rejoice.
Feb 9, 2013
Feb 9, 2013 at 12:52 AM UTC
Maybe now, that limelight you seek
is not as glamorous as you once thought.
Nostalgia replaced with a shield of infamy,
infamy that doubles as shield and sword.
Your eyes grow green with beautiful
unrighteous envy, obvious jealousy.
You’d strike down your best friend to
glow like citric, pour out like acid.
I’m not sure if I know you from somewhere anymore.
I’m not sure if we’ve passed each other in bright lights,
or in dark rooms, or daylight, or barlight, or held hands
or narrowly escaped a world trying to pump us full
of ******** Now you’re just mean in spirit, as a cliche.
You’re Charlie Sheen by way of Kim Kardashian,
You’re plastic by way of cellophane.
If it’s hurts it’s only because I try as hard as you,
it hurts only because this time, I want it to.
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 4:26 AM UTC
You have a citric tongue
Acidic but tasty
You are a vacation
In mental ************
Sulphurous words
That burn me
Full of furious reactions
Such an oceanic passion
A deep blue sea
Of eyes that look into me
Your body is a nation
Barely opened borders
I flow into you
Heart heavy and tired
Poetic soul branded illegal
Desire makes me criminal
Wanting those wanton lips
Chapped from our heated kiss
Make me your facebook friend
To share your soul
In the form of digital content
Then bury me in cement
Solidifying your foundation
Building us up from lust
And a cosmic elation
With a milky way
***********
Till both of us
Return fully reformed
From the ravishing rains
Of that ****** storm
Dec 25, 2015
Dec 25, 2015 at 4:06 PM UTC
point 2 of a gram
shooting the man is the plan,
a needle
a spoon
citric and soon
you're joining the moon
out in space,
a spaced out man
point 2 of a gram.
There is no light at the point of a 'pin', there's just night and you might bear that in mind the next time that you find a plan,
point 2 of a gram.
Apr 28, 2015
Apr 28, 2015 at 8:04 PM UTC
We spent our youths
sleeping in empty bathtups
because we like the way it
makes his memory echo
through the silence,
the way syllables got
trapped beneath the taps.
And we only paid
attention to abandoned buildings
when we became one.
But we never had someone
around to tell us that
the objects in the mirror
are less depressed than
they appear.
So we keep reciting bedtime
stories and dryheaving
scattered sensations because
saying his name feels
like chocking down bleach
but it hurts less than
knowing no amount of time
spent staring passed empty
doorways will bring him back.
No one told us that goodbyes
taste like the back of a
postage stamp and no one
told us that coming home
feels a lot like drowning.
Every year for Halloween
we dress up as the versions
of ourselves that were in love
with the way their skin
looked in the day time
and we sit
outside upon the porch
hoping we'll walk out and
leave our heartless archetypes
behind.
No one told us that loving
would be like playing
the piano for someone who
can't hear,
or that it would remind us
of the way we felt the first
time we dropped our ice
creams as a kid.
So we're trapped finding
colours in the shadows
on the ceiling and
we keep storing secrets
in our cigarettes.
Because we just can't seem to
find our place
in this world and
we swopped a one bedroom
apartment for a bloodless
bag of dark hair and
dislocated words.
We curled our spines
into shapes that resemble
hurricanes
because all we see
between our bones is
substance for natural disaster.
We lost hope the moment
she hurled from our van
and we've been searching
inside drug stores
ever since.
So excuse us,
for we smell of death
and cheap wine.
And our clothes are stained
from loss and citric acid,
but if you let us limp
our way passed,
you may learn the lesson
your mother never had
the nerve to teach you
Dec 14, 2015
Dec 14, 2015 at 7:38 PM UTC
pure evil is unrelated to evil's actual activity, nor is it on the sonar of good for good's worth of criticism: it's buddha's middle path, basically neither: russian existentialism's epitome - the force that wills good although meddling in wanting evil resolve.
i love having a whiskey with citric barley
(coca cola) before an english breakfast,
as much as i like watching snake eyes
in fur being fed raw pork
while listening to some concerto in
a#: it's soothing for the ******** extension
of ****** that never arrived;
bonsai nero feeding christians to the lions
in the shadow of the crucifix.
Jan 10, 2016
Jan 10, 2016 at 7:39 AM UTC
tis
a
shade
past the middle
of
the night
tis
quiet
with the
exception
of the pulse of
the waves
and
your breathe
whispering in
my ear
tis
time
for
all good and sane
people
to be asleep
yet
i
am
awake
pondering
life's
questions
and
eating a mandarin,
juice
bursting with citric
sweetness
running down
my chin
tis
slightly
absurd
yet
slightly
decadent
staring
into
the depths
of the night
with the
taste of
mandarin
on the tip
of your tongue
tis
one
of this
insomniac's
quiet
joys
tis...tis...tis
Jun 15, 2015
Jun 15, 2015 at 12:16 PM UTC
L-,
It's a lonely acid evening,
citric-salted, hung like a skin
on headlights that rise
& split into orange antlers.
A woman screams "Barry!"
into the alley, over and over,
until night climbs over her
with black, grinding knees.
Sweet Saturday carvings
are Sunday's rack and bone:
after your lobby debut
(your eyes fine as sea-thread)
you spun away, you are still spinning.
The heart's ever-after is knotted:
I thin you with gin, smear
that clever flash of teeth and lip
into the cold hollows of air
that clot the mid-month.
Listen: the alley woman
gave up on Barry.
Yours,
E-
Oct 17, 2022
Oct 17, 2022 at 9:07 PM UTC
i'm pretty **** sure you'd gobble this like i did, wolfish;
it's a reinvention of the original: sweet & sour...
but this is sweet & salty.
mmm...
rice noodles! rice nnn! that almost see-through
squids of tangles...
not egg noodles! not egg noodles!
rice! rice noodles!
and then we fry some bacon,
add a bit of mushrooms...
a few pinches of paprika...
and then the magic happens...
honey....
followed up by some soy sauce...
mmm, keep frying...
some pepper...
then nicely cut cherry tomatoes
to break apart the sweet from the salty with some
acidity,
and then some parsley to garnish.
woof!
went down like a storm, it probably took me less time to
down the bowl of noodles than i took to cook it...
but what an ingenious concept, rather than the classic
sweet & sour... sweet & salty...
comrade mao would have approved:
just think how simple it sounds...
it's not exactly, hoisin sauce,
honey
soy sauce
cherry tomatoes:
oh **** me... you need a buffer zone...
some sort of acidity...
if you were going to bottle it i'm sure citric salt
would do the job... but in real time? when you're actually
conjuring such a recipe? cherry tomatoes...
and no... egg noodles won't do... they're too heavy,
they won't soak up the juices... so you need the squid-like
tentacles of rice noodles... and yes, fry the concoction
in some chili infused olive oil.
a microcosmos in under 15 minutes...
the universe disappears... and the idea of a polyverse
is but a **** and a burp half an hour later.
May 4, 2017
May 4, 2017 at 12:54 PM UTC
Ignore the size of the portion
This is healthy
Ignorance is bliss
Cut and slice
Count the pieces the knife and fork create
Slip into old routine
Eat one cookie... eat five
Who cares?
You're this shape already
Turn the shower on twice a day
Watch it all wash down the drain
Hate the way you adore the acidic burn
Count the numbers
You're not wiz at college algebra
But you can count the calories, pounds, and body mass
Watch the flab vanish into sweat
Run for two hours a day
Do crunches until your innards explode
Faint in the shower
Forget what time of day it is
Sleep is now nonexistent due to hunger
Ward off the war within your belly
Empty is clean
Pain is beauty
Your teeth are rotting
From the lies about your meal plan
And your citric stomach
Compare yourself to all of them
Observe the way they enjoy it
They love the freedom of cuisine
Your mouth is watering
It's a good thing food cannot travel
Through a television screen
Cry at family gatherings and holidays
Your mother's eyes glaring across the table
While you wish you could vacate the skin you're in
Uncertainty is your best friend at this point
Indecisiveness and hatred are nothing out of the ordinary
Your mere thoughts are a whirlwind
And there's nothing romantic about it
May 13, 2015
May 13, 2015 at 8:40 PM UTC
I bite into the soft flesh of the fruit.
The pressure makes it squirt
sprays of cool citric delight.
Swallowing leaves a sweet residue in my mouth
as little bits of orange get stuck in my broken tooth.
May 15, 2016
May 15, 2016 at 9:42 AM UTC
The waterworks of my eyes
Perform regularly;
Filling every pore in my cheeks.
With a simple sentiment
A tear will shed
And another, and another.
Provoke my inner sensitivities,
And more rivers will flow
Until they reach the ocean of my lips.
With blunt scrutiny too,
My eye will hasten
To water the flowers on my neck.
And love, and love,
And hurt, and pain
All like a citric juice in one’s eyes,
Or the sharp sting of onion,
But not a sad film,
For it should caress the heart
To destroy the stability
And bring forth rain and thunder.
The waterworks of my eyes
Perform regularly;
Filling every pore in my cheeks.
Jun 20, 2016
Jun 20, 2016 at 2:00 PM UTC
Life of having two hearts
One that knew the love,
knew the eyes of doom,
knew the feeling of an upcoming tempest.
At what time to arrive at the amorous place,
before lifting one’s gaze,
after the plume of saline, in amalgamation with citric fragrances—
overpowering, and of rich darkness—
went immortal from the lawn fields,
into the glass world,
and fell there, from the great heights—bodily.
And another heart—substitute in armor—
longed for no specific lore,
just remembered nothing,
and, hitherto,
known for no desire
to love.
Jan 7, 2025
Jan 7, 2025 at 5:07 PM UTC