"cornstarch" poems
Where we shoveled coal into the furnace was an inconsiderable door. Behind it held ***** chubby cherubs with cherry tomato noses, whose job it was to keep the fires of our parent's liquor cabinets full. This they did to keep them from constantly beating us, but the happy distraction did not always work. So, we would pluckily go. Go to the scuzzy pond at dusk with kerosine lanterns and listen for croaks. We tied forks to the ends of canes or stakes and would gig bullfrogs for dinner. It became only momentarily mortifying, but was always a choice way of ridding our sisters and other clingy girls of our company. We'd fry the legs in cornstarch and pepper flakes and be allowed to share with the adults their beer if it was a good catch. Usually, it was. Most of forever we waited for teaberry season, always the best time of the year. Though it was hotter than Beelzebub's bath water we'd go swimming in that **** pond to reach our favorite teaberry patches. This ensured our riches and fame throughout our Appalachian village. Everyone would eat teaberry ice cream and sing our names and no one beat us on those days.
Mar 28, 2016
Mar 28, 2016 at 3:08 PM UTC
what i understand as a definition of
the word complex,
it requires a hyphen as a
pseudo conjunction, in that it
coordinates words in opposition,
which is why freud's right on the
money with the madonna-whore
complex, but completely bonkers
with his oedipal fetishes,
because oedipus is a complex in itself
that cannot be excavated
and theorised for the sake of a
analogue... that's a horrid plagiarism
that might plagiarise awry,
for all orthodox necessities:
a complex is aqua- -marine
aquamarine... but in terms of theory
it's evident that the hyphen usage
is still retained, before everything
goes **** up perfect *** **** of
compounding the two words like a german:
Fernmeldeverkehr (telecommunication),
der... 'nurse! pass the syllable scalpel!'
'herr doktor, der silbeskalpell.'
'ah scheiße, 'ere we go 'ere we go 'ere we go:
fern' 'mel 'dever 'kehr.'
the operation was a success, apart from
the silbeskalpell being left in the patient's body;
and i never understood why people
expect you to talk to them face-to-face
like you're reading autocue, the minute
you talk imagining off empty space
to invent a new language of comfort
they equate you with autism...
i once had a glance at psychiatric notes
sent to the bureaucratic doctor (g.p. / general
practitioner)... psst... they only care
about whether:
a. you're able to keep eye contact
b. you're / you're not biting your nails...
but that's what you get, the welfare state
policy of funding distribution of the infamous
n.h.s. (national health service)...
****** by the cartesian dualism of splitting
mind from body like the brain is some
gooey porridge mixed with cornstarch for
thickness... only 0.6% of n.h.s. funding goes into
psychiatry... i'm guessing at least 1% goes into
prescriptions for pensioners demanding ******
i already told you, cats are ontologically autistic,
hence their appeal to autistic children,
or just anyone not really into leashes, being
tugged or tugging, come rain or shine, come
7am or 7pm... they can be so inanimate sometimes
that they blend in will flowers, and when awake,
yes, like plants doing the kayan lahwi tribe's
extending neck with rings thing... ah what's it called...
ah yes phototropism... take the rings off the neck
a million swans with broken necks.
Feb 28, 2016
Feb 28, 2016 at 7:39 AM UTC
You traced the horizon with your fingertips
as if the sunset was something you painted
with Kool-Aid and cornstarch.
The ocean spit salty on the backs of our necks
As the sun faded behind the skyline of the city.
You kissed me hard then lit a cigarette. Laughing,
"Nobody watches the sunset on the East Coast."
I lay my head on your shoulder
as you dug trenches in the sand with your feet.
We sat in silence for a while, and that was okay.
You always said if the words aren't there, don't force it.
If the love isn't there don't force it.
If the love isn't there don't force it.
If the love isn't there don't force it.
I keep that sunset you painted with me all the time
and I look at it when I can't remember
what the sun feels like.
Wrinkled with time and more dull than I remember
it still stains my fingertips red and leaves a sugary sweet taste
on my tongue.
Jul 11, 2014
Jul 11, 2014 at 10:45 PM UTC
Change for the better comes hard for most of us so we go the easy and reckless ways we’ve been taught…
Processed to pleasure our favorite foods, no regulations and absolutely no safety rules..
Modified cornstarch, mono dextrin and sugar affects us like ******* Another snack, another drink, I like my toxins plain, indeed I spend my food stamps on Coca-Cola and sugary things!
Bushels and bushels of fruits fortified with fructose! Lactose is is making us fat, and now our hearts have extra plaque.
There’s nothing safe on the shelfs at our stores, smell those baked goods near the front door.
Thank goodness, we have insulin to remove the sugar from our blood… There’s no need to resist the seed oil sludge. Oh yes and secondary moments that last too long, waste no time trying to get strong. I’ll have another ******* and a box of those delicious Dingdongs!
Sep 20, 2025
Sep 20, 2025 at 8:36 AM UTC
*(shhh dear skin you're
safe and smooth now)*
cornstarch feet
toothpaste running
through my hair
listen to the vinegar hiss
*(shhh dear skin you're
safe and smooth now)*
petroleum based
insecurity wrapped in
a greasy old bandanna
the stuff of family feuds
*(shhh dear skin you're
safe and smooth now)*
i know that i often
feel about the size
of the proverbial
postage stamp
but every steamed up
monday night i try
to convince myself that
i'm safe in my own skin
*(shhh dear skin you're
safe and sound now)*
go ahead
choke me
in your eyes
strangle me
tangled up in
unjust judgement
i'm always told
that i'm too
critical
but spend any time
under my nails
and you'll start
to realize why
i'm cynical.
Aug 26, 2016
Aug 26, 2016 at 10:35 AM UTC