"digested" poems
your blood shot eyes
so red and round
their juicy plumpness compels me
to eat my baby tomatoes
the pungent smell
of your ***** second-hand smoke
fills me with desire
for some beef jerky
the sickly sight
of your slimy, greasy hair
leave me desperate with longing
for some succulent string cheese
when you scarf down your food
as if the world was ending
i can feel my partially digested turkey sandwich
make its way back up my throat
and spew out
all over your yogurt
ruining it
calculus.
(co-authored)
Apr 20, 2013
Apr 20, 2013 at 2:36 AM UTC
What is it about this chase that eludes me
That runs away from me
That seeks to experience and then flee me
Until I get hijacked by another
Consenting to my own free fall into ignorance and bliss
Conditioning myself to transmit
Abundance without reservation
Until shot at the knee
But dragged along for a while longer
By the chains I so genuinely let bind me
And even before the wounds have healed
I don't stop running, I won't stop running
Resolute in a chase that targets me
I do so unconditionally
But you can't hijack my senses
I am not an experience or experiment worth having
I am not a temporary treat to be improperly digested and defecated
I am not an amber that ignites upon initial contact
To then be mediated or extinguished if the temperate is not right
I am not the holy water that you colonize
And shower with to cleanse you
To then invalidate that sanctity
When it falls down the drain
I am not a barometer that reliefs the labor
Needed to challenge the aberrations
Of your colonized and colonizing tendencies
I exist
Physically insignificant
As the earth that birthed me and will bury me
But eternal in essence
I am a permanent presence
I am an unforgettable imprint
I am your equal, no less, no more
The moment that we mutually acknowledge
Each other's existence
I have bound myself to you
From that moment...loved you unconditionally and eternally
And expect no lesser commitment
From you to me, or any other person you meet
And even after the wounds have healed
I don't stop running, I won't stop running
Resolute in a chase that targets us
We must unleash our abundance unconditionally
And when we leave
We will have given
Absolutely everything
That we had to give
During that time of our existence
Mar 6, 2015
Mar 6, 2015 at 8:07 PM UTC
complexity bias
how you love to criticize my poems
as too long and overly complex
poor me, I’m no genius, don’t prosper by exploiting
unrecognized simplicities, rather deconstruct the
intricate complexities that I flatter myself are the me-sinews
Writing is a **** temptation -
we focus on the 10% that is complex and ignore the easy 90%
perhaps this once I will surrender my bare bones
put aside the rich, satisfying of cave diving, urban spelunking
word caressing tongue verbiage rich tapestry exploring -
give you the plane of plain where nestles my destiny: nesting near motionless where the couch is my kingdom and cold cereal is
easily digested and there are no consequences
I am a member of a discriminated-against minority
we have no charismatic leader, no marchers anywhere, and government programs say
hey you’re free white and twenty one plus, get the crap out of
our faces, you useless piece of rhymes with **** and includes dirt, though I shower twice a day to keep myself occupied
25 years old, a high school dropout, of course I’m white,
my occupation is playing video games and making sure
my supply of opioids is adequate in these great United States
where I was born
there are fewer jobs than none that my application survives
a first glance discardation, and now my disability preempts
any demand to pretend there is gainful employment in store in
my future
this reductio ad absurdum is a technique to expose the fallacy,
ah what’s that you say no interest in hanging about,
on your way out, of course, of course,
we are the wrong flavor of downtrodden
my life is simple - simplistic in its a chaotic entropic way,
order slowly declines into disorder
my rituals are a fight against slip sliding down, falling off the
the Herzog continuums
and the poems are desperate hand holds to prevent my
going, gone under
so forgive me if I tax you without possessing not the
requisite taxing authority
you hone in on the obvious disparities and my contradictions
resenting my sending you this bill of extravagant length
compose with me and a mean will be located and to sleep I go,
perhaps to undress my dreams and explicate the wealthy multiples of complexity in the simplicity of a junkies life
Feb 4, 2018
Feb 4, 2018 at 3:56 PM UTC
Frozen in the darkness silence peacefully shrouds me
hoping that I am breathless, praying he wont see,
this sublime sorrow I am gasping in the pain
swallowing bitter tears seconds from insane.
Defining the emotion each and every time
trying not to echo, balancing on the line,
silence is a killer but not my reason to die
hearing in this deafness will always make me cry.
The shadows over take me, speak the unspoken curse
just as well I am dying can't bear to smell this hearse.
Weighed down by lost tomorrows my memory finally broke,
why is it always my own hands gripped to make me choke?
His hug comforts my stomach blindly in his sleep
not knowing in this darkness my eyes can't help but weep,
obscurity plays around me tries to steal my breath
every time I close my eyes I know I’m close to death.
Panic underestimates the power the black withholds
carving me so gently, painless as it moulds
I sweat out my reaction cause words can't find a voice,
helplessly devoted to lay I have no choice.
Everything suffocates can't bear to close my eyes
repeated optimism as I see how everyone dies,
my mind is there to haunt me it never gives me peace
all the pills digested at will, still wont make it cease.
Night is a blur now confused by chemical reaction
convulsions rage as death excels performing its extraction,
in the mix I see his face traumatised by my choice, it's made
but time has gone his actions futile as sight begins to fade,
regret stabs flesh repentantly too late to change effect
I know he’ll cry forever at his failure to correct.
My selfish, vengeful actions will speak louder than my word
he never seen the suicide…do you think he finally heard?
Aug 8, 2010
Aug 8, 2010 at 7:07 AM UTC
I say blood
marbled floors
and boats
somewhere on the Ganges River
Africa?
no.
wait—I think it’s
sadness
that flows out every hole
onto the plain
into the water
out of the well
all of the elephants swallowed
and digested
down to the bones
on colors
on sky diamonds
on lovely wax and wane
this river
these people
blood and guts
cooking
tradition
knowing
that it’s the last meal
to throw to the gods
in the water
Feb 18, 2016
Feb 18, 2016 at 8:10 PM UTC
the world sits on the wing of a dove
being swallowed whole by a fiery goddess
descended from heaven on a chariot of ivy
i am incarcerated by shaking flesh and itching cloth
the road before me is giant and knows no bounds
the graveyard is warm and wet with spirits and dew
and red clouds are born from fire in the dawn
there is an intelligent horse being ridden by a snarling insect
and this man has come to claim our souls
our sunset blood burns boils blisters until a million animals wounded
i'm still alive, transfigure me into a creator
choke up my nostrils with the scent of your ***
invade my lungs with the burn of your god
caress my toungue with the infinite promise
enter my brain from above, and regurgitate your anxiety on me
slimy worms devour a psychadelic tomato laughing
into transendency, an eyeless eel has dissappeared into a pocket
i speak from balconies, from terrible heights, from hastened windowsills
in a million desperate quarrelling cities
this is where i **** up illusion, i give up to despondency
i ring the great iron bell that resounds with corruption, with hatred, with hideous *** and admiration,
i scream and cavort on rooftops alone with a black & blue midnight
covered in electric lights and gunpowder tongues
here comes the disintegration of my mind
disgraced by the eye of the earth and spat into
a realm of salivating light
i am swimming through digested heartbreak and melancholy livers
sickened by madness and homemade bombs and ******
the rainclouds carry a truckload of babies' hearts
and it's raining eyes over the city now
the cry of the mind escapes from waving mouths in impotence
as millions of bacteria invade the brain
may these lines be answered by the bird of the sun
by the worm at my ear
by the sight of my skeleton
by the stench of ***** in the air
by the dead gong shivering through midnight
by the bleeding eye of abandoned dreams
by the prophets in proclamation
by the god of all my sorrows
Nov 30, 2011
Nov 30, 2011 at 9:55 PM UTC
I am a taco
With meat, lettuce, and sauce
All stuffed within a shell
I am very yummy
All my life I have one goal
And that's to be eaten by a hungry soul
People say I'm very yummy
When I'm being digested in their tummy
You can get me regular or supreme
You can even add a bit of sour cream
You can get me at Del Taco or Taco Bell
I'm a little piece of heaven in a little shell
Jul 10, 2014
Jul 10, 2014 at 8:14 PM UTC
im
NOT
sexting you
im
NOT
that kind of man
i really never think about such things
and deplore that behavior in my male counterparts
really its disgusting
i never look at your face
and never think
what would it be like to kiss you
to kiss your ***
your drooly pert *****
to be your foot slave
geisha boy
sticky pink
full a joy
boy toy
jolly
lolly
pop
****
im
NOT
lookin at that teensty
little picture of you
and stinckin thinkin
mmmmmmm
is her life all ****** up
is she married to dead in the bed
lookin fer love
is she
hornyyyyyyy
all vanilla
or
a ***** *****
spicy hot *****
who likes it hard
like a delicious hate ****
that's just to
hot hot hot
for tender love
no
ow you beautiful steamy creamy thing
NOT
at
all
ravenous for
feral porkers at the feeding trough
NOT
caring that tomorrow you are my bacon
maybe hoping you wanna be bacon
for a raw lascivious wet mouth
and big teeth
all achy starved
slick yap salivating
like a sopping squeezing porous sponge
to be chewed and digested
no objectification here
hell no
im
NOT
sexting you
NOT!!
Jul 19, 2017
Jul 19, 2017 at 11:46 AM UTC
Be naked and vulnerable,
They say,
But hide some things away,
Your liver isn’t lovely,
But your heart keeps me in awe,
I can’t,
Uncover my chest,
My brain,
And show the world the blood,
And shining blue,
And red,
And yellow,
The curves,
Without showing half-digested cheese,
And bile,
And ****
Once in a while,
Or often,
To be naked,
Is to allow mistakes,
To offend,
And forgive yourself,
And them,
When they offend you too,
It is impossible,
To share our beauty,
Without the ugliness.
Self-esteem,
And humble pride,
Is knowing,
That you can’t find,
Anyone with more **** than you,
Or more most beautiful blood,
So,
Do you have the courage,
To be naked?
Oct 11, 2014
Oct 11, 2014 at 6:48 PM UTC
the child of the child of my woman,
cries in the night,
rooming next door,
down the hall
and
he is
all children that cry in the night,
but he is
more mine
by right of quantity
numerous are the kisses lavished,
this biannual visit upon,
his four year old
oversized head,
(so full of 'bains')
his undersized,
protuberanced belly body,
a combo making him
no longer baby,
nor a grownup,
both states,
he denies accurately,
maturely in a wobbly voice
of utter certainty,
but lacking the adjectives
of what lies between,
he debates his state thoughtfully,
until distracted by other
more pressing matters of state
he is boy, little but vociferous,
quiet, pensive, his head a weapon
of...confusion and certainty that
being four years old,
he must perforce be
permanently
in skeptical awe of the world
this is the best position ever,
he has ascertained,
to filter and behold anything,
whatever newness arrives,
which is constant,
streaming and unending
until new is
fully digested, analyzed, and classified,
as if he were
a zoologist in
a wild and untamed land
only certain of what he knows
with perfect certainty,
he consults with me still,
"you kidding?"
such a sophisticated analytic interrogatory,
wise in the ways of grownups,
who, prone to deceive gleefully
his very
suspecting mind,
so much so,
they must be challenged and
rebuffed all too frequently
he cries in the night,
normal tears of discomfort,
physical or mental,
I cannot tell,
for his father
his parental hearing
more practiced, refined,
has preceded me,
such,
as it should be,
and I am dispatched back
to my 3:00am bed,
left only to ink
contemplative ruminations
on the state and nation
of being four...
and sixty,
and still uncertain, even more
than the little boy
of wizened age of annualized four,
the child of the child of my woman,
on
what is real, what is kidding,
in a quest unending
to better ascertain,
the state of my own being
and the transitory nature of
everything
all of what is thought certain,
falls aside,
under the withering,
unwavering,
critique of
"you kidding?"
and in this we are
more kin
than if our blood was
physically shared
Nov 29, 2014
Nov 29, 2014 at 4:24 AM UTC
eating the sludgy contents
of your beautiful mind's conscience
and dreaming in your thoughts
while choking on blood clots
slurping up tangled tendons
drowning in remembrance
tales of your history
have now become a meal for me
digested in your calculations
I am finally free of my frustration.
Dec 2, 2014
Dec 2, 2014 at 9:36 PM UTC
Who is left that cares for what's precious and finds a way?
is there an awareness that allows for love and caring to be expressed?
what ego was more important?
what winning or need to feel better was more important?
funny how the need to rush away from the most important communications distort every communication
always in a hurry to move away from
only to never really completely have what is needed for the right communication
impatient with this, in judgment of that, closing off all feelings after the next determination
all that was missed because of this cell phone or this "appointment" who truly held no self created distraction?
where nothing would have interfered with what should have been held in the highest respect for however long it took?
what was more important than truth expressed and feelings shown?
what deserved making what was precious not a priority?
What will sit there as a stone unturned and a pain to ruminate because a mis-communication was digested as truth when it wasn't. And love wasn't allowed the path to bloom
and caring wasn't mutually expressed
Funny how the only way I could ever express myself in full is to write a book because nobody involved ever really has the time, patience, open-mindedness and lack of ego and judgment to hear it without changing what it is--being taken away or held in possession of by another to shield what is complete in explaining
so why not expose everything and be without judgment, fear, or the ticking clock
why not make that the most important thing instead of the short fuse, the agenda that makes it unimportant, the hate that ends all communication
Why not love and love with patience, caring, open-mindedness for wasn't there plenty of times where love was needed for you and it was given and given and given some more?
Where is the love?
Where is the love that has infinite patience to hear and stay with friction until it no longer is? Where is what is most PRECIOUS?
But the prissy spoile friends say no, and the television personalities say no, and the opinions of others pre-determined yours, and the opinions you chose you are a prisoner of--but why is what is so precious in the overall scheme of things not the most important thing?
Aug 24, 2014
Aug 24, 2014 at 10:17 PM UTC
I laugh a lot.
I laugh at myself because I am hard stuck to find the beauty in the poetry
but somehow to others words flow like vicious currents rip through ugly ducklings never to be grown to beautiful swans down the river Delta,
the Nile,
we call it emotion, this the true beauty of the words is always flowing page to mouth to mouth to ear,
honey water to be digested by the soul and mind
and some breast stroke some and some do the butterfly and some just fuckin' drown...
so you could say to some poetry is no laughing matter...
yet here I titter like a child because I cant help but wonder if Daniel's saying penance or just stuttering the word *****
So I laugh
I laugh and laugh and laugh I laugh at myself I definitely laugh at you people
I ha ha ha my course thoughts, outwards reflecting anger passion, turning it away
with the yip yawing of jaws and gums flapping in celestial proportions of denial
snorts and giggles push back emotion drowning out any semblance of fear or hate
because who's to say I can handle it,
call it sociopathic tenancies but I'll make it make belief because we just cant handle the fairy tale we live in
we cant handle that there might be no happily ever afters and we cant handle that we dont have a Prince charming to take care of us
but instead the crown is Crown Royal and you love it, love the burn down your throat,
something to keep you alive something to keep you awake but aren’t the two just one of the same anyway?
What is each day but a dream if automation takes you over rides you out like a machine and pushes 100110101.
So I ask you,
I ask you to listen to the words and the voice,
swim down the river any way you want just get your feet wet because living on dry land is living in fear
But more importantly I ask me
I ask me to do what I asked you to do, but how can I trust me to do what I told you to do when I hardly connect the concept of we and have used it but once in my work, though I am no different than you!
Because what are we if not all the same?
Dec 18, 2013
Dec 18, 2013 at 9:53 PM UTC
Beware of the smiling crocodile
He’s charming as a flower
Even though he’s a vicious crocodile
He hides his true croc power
His smile is bright as the sky
And his teeth sparkle like the sun
When he displays all his crocodile charms
It’ll be too late to know what he has done
Don’t get too close
And don’t let him see
A vicious mean crocodile
Will only sense your vulnerability
Should you fall within his grasp
And his grip clutches you in,
It’ll be too late, say farewell, my friend
The giant croc has taken you in
For when the crocodile smiles
And his jaws open wide
You will not know
Until you are eaten up and digested inside.
Jan 13, 2015
Jan 13, 2015 at 6:30 AM UTC
What is it that you're thinking
tell me what you
ponder
while you watch me
doubled over.
As you watch me doubled over
heaving
bile
and spit
and breakfasts meal.
Does it disgust you when I choke
and cough
eject
half digested
----not even fully digested----
nutrition from my
acid scarred throat?
Or do you just stand there
feeling nothing.
Oct 7, 2010
Oct 7, 2010 at 5:41 PM UTC
***** feet
***** of them ache
they're dry
all dried out, moisture to face and digestive tract make little difference
but comfort a little sort of; maybe
subdue to replenishing
skip the pain with a drink fucken, fucken drink fucken
dust lingers in the brain, it swirls
a cloud of ground envelops the shape of u
u become covered
u have a layer,
salty,
and dry
and 'organic'
(surely bio (though im not sure what is or why are))
full city boy, suburban boy, not particularly gritty boy
along side hippies
and volunteers all tripppy
and unwashed, and un plastic
yet forcefully hemped
drunk of micro beer
and burnt brown and blotchy red
and wire-y
and dry
and matted
as if nothing really matters except for principles
misguided and randomly enforced
feel like a husk; peanut shell
insides swallowed by the mouth of the party embodied
a monsterous sweaty man tanned and thickly bearded
and beered
fat dreads fall around and surround u; a forest of hair
a circle encroaching of fuzzy pillars in fibres
entrapped inside them; feel their lingering time matted hold
a wealth of effort to become unkempt; they are bars
they are walls
and the FACE!
……………………… ………………………………… oh
looming down, wafts of armpit vapour cloud; a looming puft that surrounds
engorged by the scent as it circles u, the mouth that lowered onto u
chews u and spills bits of u
chomp chomp
protein for vegetarians; u; ur rigour ur vigour ur guts
eaten in a flurry of chomps and slurps and it crunches
and it grates
like the rocks on the ***** of ur feet it grates
u are digested
and reused
as they would like
but for them; for a collective u dived into
for fun
2 days to peddle ur wares
to progress ( admittedly through some days of regression…)
for all humans, and Humans; for fun
on monday we will repent
for the damages waged on the inside of the body
and the outsides too
for some gain
i guess on this which we settle
for always for display for fun
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 2:10 AM UTC
**A lecherous
demeanor burnt
the tongue,
like cheesy solicitations in
antagonistic ruminations of
ventured conjecture, churning
sputtered calculations,
a tactile exercise
in the biting tang of
eviscerating maceration
regurgitating bitter sediment,
unctuous residue
slid down the throat,
the aftertaste remained
long after it was digested**
Jul 13, 2015
Jul 13, 2015 at 8:08 PM UTC
Aunt Lottie had a slow and careful walk
every step could jar
the delicate balance
of the fragile grand piano
she had swallowed.
It was no ordinary instrument
it was entirely made of crystal
which added to the fears
of its disturbance
or destruction
by the simplest slip or stumble
or missed footing on a step.
It was a slight inconvenience
she had taken in her stride.
Matters concerning the said piano
were only discussed in hushed tones
on Wednesday afternoons
and only with her dearest nephew, Ludwig
who sensitively seemed to understand
the precious nature of imagination
and the tickling discomforts
of digested furniture and such things
as fancy may create.
Aug 1, 2014
Aug 1, 2014 at 1:24 PM UTC
My hands were shaking
Not as hard as yours, I'm sure
You almost lost everything and I
was forced to watch,
bearing silent witness to a
destruction not my own
but at which I felt at fault,
thus I digested it as my own
Who knows?
In my mind, I had lived fantasies of
something like this happening--
you, helpless, I hold fast to your life and then
salvaging you, just barely,
scaring us both out of life and then
falling back into something new--
dark, strange, and yet intimate
This has happened to me twice now (for real)
and neither time was nearly as glamorous as
I had played out in my mind
(I'm a stupid girl)
Both times I felt drained of a vital energy I couldn't
call back--ever
I became an echo
of me
and us?
we were skeletons of
the children we once were. Both times
robbed me---
of sleep, and years, and appetite.
robbed me---
of innocence, and soul, and
love
which always
bleeds out uncontrollably
in times like these
unclottable
and out with love
spreads guilt and shame
(I'm a jinx, I'm a cursed girl)
across the tar, filling the black empty
cracks with invaluable energy
Full of foreign weight
cargo stored too long
too far pushed down our throats
too removed
My hands were shaking
Not as hard or as long as yours
I'm sure
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 7:28 PM UTC
My friend and I have names for each other when we need to channel our inner divas. Mine is Beyonce Pad Thai.
Beyonce Pad Thai doesn’t care what you think because she’s too busy caring about what she thinks!
Beyonce Pad Thai doesn’t put up with your **** because **** is literally digested waste and she demands undigested life. The life you use to the fullest without any waste!
Beyonce Pad Thai has goals you didn’t even know were possible. She knows they’re possible because she writes them down every. single. day. She works towards them every. single. day. and the universe gives her exactly what she asks for.
Beyonce Pad Thai doesn’t take offense to your words because she knows words come out of us and therefore they live in us and when we exhale them they’re more about us than the person they hit on the way out.
Beyonce Pad Thai is so awesome and fun she knows time spent with her is a gift. When she gives you that gift and your lack of appreciation is apparent she has no problem taking it away and giving that gift to others.
Beyonce Pad Thai is done talking about you now. She wants to find herself, in the crack of a newly opened book, in the b flat of a new flute song, in the sizzling sounds of a new recipe, in the times new roman of a dream job offer, in the middle of a twirl during her new favorite song, in the new comfort outside her comfort zone.
10/22/2016 Amanda Powell
Jan 6, 2018
Jan 6, 2018 at 8:53 PM UTC
It has came apparent that Bardstown Ky. Is now being infested with this sickness. Now this sickness is one of the worse of all times. For no one is safe.
The Sickness of Skittles. Her sickness effect everyone as she is walking. For that smell that comes from her deep, wide hole.
For the wind that blows with her every step.
For when she spreads her legs ever so wide, Giving it all to you. For that yellow and green fluid that is oozing from her wide ***** That is now all over your hands and your mouth. For that is not her cuming. For that is the start of her sickness
For that smell you are smelling, no that is not from a busted rotten egg. For that is the smell of the sickness that lives with inside her beat up *****
Her ***** has turned black, thats from where she is no longer human anymore for the sickness as taken over. What is that sharp pain. The pain that feels like the snake bit entering you. Thats the sickness, For it is now entering into your vain now
You say you want to see this sickness. Well just grab you a flashlight, Now slowly slide your head inside her black dark hole. For i must warn you now to beware of the things you might find inside there. The things the sickness has not yet digested yet. Now for your safety do not remove the toys, or the Pepsi bottles that could still be inside there.
Now i do ask if you find a webcam in there. Please grab that. For i am needing that back.
NOW hurry before the sickness eats you. For believe me i have escaped This SICKNESS of SKITTLES *****
That is now infesting my ex- best-friend
Oct 13, 2012
Oct 13, 2012 at 2:44 PM UTC
my ink pen vomits on lined paper, tender cuts of beef
unable to be kept down long enough to be properly digested.
my words embarrass me.
Sep 27, 2013
Sep 27, 2013 at 4:30 AM UTC
I used to wear this hair as a badge of courage
That the fire in me would never subside.
But now I find myself broken down
Digested by life.
I used to wear this hair to spite life
To challenge it to a never ending duel.
But now I find myself defeated
Incapacitated if you will.
I used to wear this hair as a declaration
That I would always be spunky.
But now I find myself deflated
Unable to continue on.
Feb 24, 2011
Feb 24, 2011 at 8:00 AM UTC
I bought a real nutcracker today.
A fine shiny black truly cool looking one!
Each crack compliments to a dandy vintage lad's imaginary home TV shopper Ad.
Saying‘It's guaranteed! Hundred percent of mechanosensory reception!’
I try to convince myself between time stretching
‘Yes or No’s and ‘Just use stones’
‘Come on you've deserved it!’
‘Why bother?’
You have been craving for each
Tried and tested any,
same as so many
even from a hard peach.
So why not!? Keep it! – as if a testimony, from tough to juicy mimicking fruity blending **** seduced by crunchy mouth twisting *****
Digested from special yearly events to monthly justifications then weekly to daily and surprisingly after dinner, before breakfast, as brunch or even a whole meal sometimes.
You gnaw like a small rodent layer by layer cute but so tight although he says that’s alright.
Dashing trunks as if a woodpecker,
Stealing home reserved only-for-the-pet’s crumbs and
Finally receiving next day’s well deserved belly cramps.
Come on you almost broke your teeth during your worldwide exploring different types of shell husking trip.
Feel blessed now one time for goddess’ sake that she winks and tweaks my lips while it creaks, festively announces your recent find that nuts you shall eat raw only - neither baked nor from a sinfully roasted ready packed plastic bag.
Oct 19, 2014
Oct 19, 2014 at 8:56 AM UTC
I love words
for their meanings
their woven tapestries
but also
for their taste.
Tell me, when was the last time you tasted a word
as sweet as strawberry shortcake
or bitter as dark hot coffee?
try it.
remember diction, now.
*loquacious
refrigerator
nefarious
malevolent
tinkerbell*
feel the 'q' like a potato chip
(crunch)
the 'f' like a wind
(swooping through)
the 'b' like a kiss
(so quiet)
Gives new meaning to the age-old rhyme:
Some books should be tasted,
others devoured,
but only a few should be chewed and digested thoroughly.
May 29, 2013
May 29, 2013 at 3:28 PM UTC