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"eggplant" poems
3-2-2017 (unknown date of origin) Something's wrong... you don't belong here. I said, looking down at the pineapple on my pizza. I said, looking down at the ketchup on my macaroni. I said, looking down at the cream of mushroom soup on my meatloaf. He said, looking down at me and my boyfriend, holding hands in public. Like I'm a creep.  I'm a ****** What the hell am I doing here? I don't belong here. You see there's these things that we learn at the dinner table. When we're kids we have certain items served to us on our plates. Whatever doesn't end up there, isn't a part of the discussion. After all, they say if you don't have a seat at the table, you are likely to be on the menu. So, when ****** orientation and gender identity aren't seated at the table of childhood, they get served for the first time in unexpected places.   Like an avante garde celebrity chef's designer meal, prepared for critiques by the food bloggers.   They get served in college classroom debates or in dorm rooms with freshman roommates.   They're on the menu in in some movies but served with a side of stereotypes and silly trope toppings.   They get grinded into glitter dust sprinkled on the annual PRIDE Parades like an overly salty seasoning mix.   They're on the menu in workplace diversity trainings, but too little too late - they get lost in the marginalized buffet.   They get served at the oppression Olympics, or actually at the Olympics unwillingly by a journalist who only pretends to eat a well-balanced diet, but really has LGBT food allergies,  if you know what I mean. In reality, these should be staple dishes consumed by commoners, consumed by you and me, consumed by children along with their healthy daily dose of broccoli and cauliflower, squash and zucchini, even eggplant.   They should be in every ******* cookbook with pictures and all different kinds of recipes! I want every child to have gay on their dinner plate, lesbian lunch, gender nonconforming on the brunch menu, and bisexual breakfast.   And everything in between in the queer spectrum served during snack breaks.   I want every child to look down at their plate and see pineapple pizza and say, gee that looks great!   I love all of the pizza toppings, no matter whether gay or nay. ... except for anchovies, of course.
0
Mar 2, 2017
Mar 2, 2017 at 4:28 AM UTC
Pineapple Pizza
3-2-2017 (unknown date of origin) Something's wrong... you don't belong here. I said, looking down at the pineapple on my pizza. I said, looking down at the ketchup on my macaroni. I said, looking down at the cream of mushroom soup on my meatloaf. He said, looking down at me and my boyfriend, holding hands in public. Like I'm a creep.  I'm a ****** What the hell am I doing here? I don't belong here. You see there's these things that we learn at the dinner table. When we're kids we have certain items served to us on our plates. Whatever doesn't end up there, isn't a part of the discussion. After all, they say if you don't have a seat at the table, you are likely to be on the menu. So, when ****** orientation and gender identity aren't seated at the table of childhood, they get served for the first time in unexpected places.   Like an avante garde celebrity chef's designer meal, prepared for critiques by the food bloggers.   They get served in college classroom debates or in dorm rooms with freshman roommates.   They're on the menu in in some movies but served with a side of stereotypes and silly trope toppings.   They get grinded into glitter dust sprinkled on the annual PRIDE Parades like an overly salty seasoning mix.   They're on the menu in workplace diversity trainings, but too little too late - they get lost in the marginalized buffet.   They get served at the oppression Olympics, or actually at the Olympics unwillingly by a journalist who only pretends to eat a well-balanced diet, but really has LGBT food allergies,  if you know what I mean. In reality, these should be staple dishes consumed by commoners, consumed by you and me, consumed by children along with their healthy daily dose of broccoli and cauliflower, squash and zucchini, even eggplant.   They should be in every ******* cookbook with pictures and all different kinds of recipes! I want every child to have gay on their dinner plate, lesbian lunch, gender nonconforming on the brunch menu, and bisexual breakfast.   And everything in between in the queer spectrum served during snack breaks.   I want every child to look down at their plate and see pineapple pizza and say, gee that looks great!   I love all of the pizza toppings, no matter whether gay or nay. ... except for anchovies, of course.
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26
N.  N is for neurologist.   What does the neurologist say? “Nothing seems to be wrong. Your net recall seems normal. You seem to remember most nouns and the news. Nothing serious, No need to worry.” I don’t quite remember driving here. This is Bethesda, right? And your name is…? P.  P is for psychologist. The P. is silent. So is the psychologist. I talk and talk. My energy level is high today, even though I got no sleep last night.   I want to write a poem and run a partial marathon. I love people. People are so beautiful. “Only connect,” said E.M. Forster. Am I talking too much? How does that make me feel? Just great!  Not like yesterday, when I wanted to jump into the Potomac from Key Bridge. P is also for Potomac. The psychologist speaks. I need a new pill. E. E is for endocrinologist. What does the endocrinologist say? “Eat. You’re an enigma. You are losing weight. We don’t know why. We’ve checked everything and can’t find evidence of enemies in your endocrine system. Enjoy some eclairs, eggplant, eggs benedict. Life is short, endulge!   Hopefully not too short. O. O is for oncologist. Oh. Oh oh.
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Mar 14, 2019
Mar 14, 2019 at 11:22 AM UTC
Medical Alphabet
They've been working on this for years Inside the government To try a replace the brain of man With that of a purple eggplant This idea to me sounds genius If you know what it is that I mean People round here might start making sense Pass the veggies if you please They called all the top notched scientists And vegetarians throughout the land To see what would be the best variety In this eggplant transplant experiment They settled on the aubergine Great Brittan's joy and pride When it comes to the perfect eggplant Those Limey's will not be denied They were afraid if they went to the private sector That person would surely be missed So they grabbed someone unsuspecting Inside of the government They told the low level employee A bit of truth mixed with a little white lie They needed him for his vast understanding and knowledge Plus they'd be serving cookies on the side They added a little something to the cookie dough That knocked the governmental genius to his knees Plopped him down on the gurney ...Let the experiment proceed if you please They cracked his skull wide open Where upon they couldn't believe their eyes Right there inside of his cranium Already an eggplant did reside
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Jul 12, 2013
Jul 12, 2013 at 4:34 PM UTC
Eggplant Transplant Experiment
I paint my pink plum flesh With a smooth eggplant color. you loved the way it brought out my eyes. Today I use it...to ****** your way home. You never come; just leaving me with stained lips. I'll pucker up to coffee cups and mirrors. Leaving you everywhere I kiss.
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Mar 3, 2015
Mar 3, 2015 at 3:28 PM UTC
Lipstick
Unforgiving heat Cool drink Giraffe, Hippo, Wildebeest, Gazelle Sip muddy water hole Crouching low. Unforgiving heat Cool drink Texans Sip fridge-cooled Camelbacks Crouching low. Light breeze Eggplant skies Tall savannah grass Sways Masking movement. Predators travel Unseen. Guns ready trophies sighted Giraffe Hippo Wildebeest Gazelle Bullet chambered Trigger finger trophies.... Running? Cheetahs pouncing Texans screaming Law of Nature End of Story.
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Oct 31, 2014
Oct 31, 2014 at 12:01 PM UTC
Happy Hunting!
Purple looks like a mid-night sky Purple sounds like a purple violin playing a melody Purple smells like fresh, homemade eggplant out of the oven Purple tastes like heart made eggplant in your mouth Purple feels like Raven Queen dress from Ever After High
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Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 9:54 PM UTC
My Favorite Color, Purple
Skinhead super short military hair with a strong jawline jutting out I saw you One random blindingly hot afternoon In a jeep I tried to squeeze in the small space so the two guys could scoot over You’re the guy to my right Reluctant to pass to the driver my exact change You sat upright Your right arm lifted, hand closed on the security rail I could only see your profile Your jawline and Aviators Mouth set in a deadpan line Lean, quietly confident Dressed casually and carefully Odd eggplant-colored shirt over whitewashed jeans You turned slightly, your nose strong chin dignified skin clean, with slight blemishes of stress Pretty eyes That never landed on me Your lips slightly curved as if remembering something You are beautiful Arrogant-looking Bored Worldly You’re not from here Not from common places Not from this wretched community I belong to Then my eyes traveled to the back of your head, An inscription was tattooed at the back of your skull. Your hair growing, beginning to cover up the past? A dangerous past? New life? A mere change of look? Where are you going? Where are you from? Why are you taking this route to and from common places? What is your agenda on this high afternoon? Are you a rockstar? Are you a poet A gangster? Then finally it’s my stop. I got up and wished you were following behind That we have the same destination Just so I could look at you in full view I stepped into the sad, bright afternoon Then I turned around You’re not there You sped away To some place Some life With your Aviators And your principles And it hurt That I never even knew what your tattoo meant
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Oct 21, 2013
Oct 21, 2013 at 3:36 AM UTC
Tattooed Guy
Skinhead super short military hair with a strong jawline jutting out I saw you One random blindingly hot afternoon In a jeep I tried to squeeze in the small space so the two guys could scoot over You’re the guy to my right Reluctant to pass to the driver my exact change You sat upright Your right arm lifted, hand closed on the security rail I could only see your profile Your jawline and Aviators Mouth set in a deadpan line Lean, quietly confident Dressed casually and carefully Odd eggplant-colored shirt over whitewashed jeans You turned slightly, your nose strong chin dignified skin clean, with slight blemishes of stress Pretty eyes That never landed on me Your lips slightly curved as if remembering something You are beautiful Arrogant-looking Bored Worldly You’re not from here Not from common places Not from this wretched community I belong to Then my eyes traveled to the back of your head, An inscription was tattooed at the back of your skull. Your hair growing, beginning to cover up the past? A dangerous past? New life? A mere change of look? Where are you going? Where are you from? Why are you taking this route to and from common places? What is your agenda on this high afternoon? Are you a rockstar? Are you a poet A gangster? Then finally it’s my stop. I got up and wished you were following behind That we have the same destination Just so I could look at you in full view I stepped into the sad, bright afternoon Then I turned around You’re not there You sped away To some place Some life With your Aviators And your principles And it hurt That I never even knew what your tattoo meant
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77
People making jokes about my birthday. Banging teeth when kissing. Eggplant. Walking to school in the cold without a sweatshirt. Being too cold and losing feeling in any body parts. Kissing someone with ****** hair. It hurts. Saggy knees. Stretch lines. Homophobia in any way, shape, or form whatsoever. Boys whose hallway swag gets in the way of my getting to class on time. Having to wait until he and I can be together. Period cramps.
0
Oct 22, 2013
Oct 22, 2013 at 9:58 PM UTC
Some things I detest
The needle-tip, a bee sting giving rise to a hive. A sickening delirium coursing mercurial under eyelids, tapeworms and tendrils weaving wildly: teeming, churning tides breaking over greedy teeth (a needy mouth flaying flesh ferociously, a fevered wolverine whipping through a petting zoo). Each agonizing second slowly sliding by, tacky molasses on cloth covering a table in an innocuous American home bruises on mother's face fade (eggplant to jaundice to the crimson of the setting sun dying behind the horizon line {chopped across a counter-top like a broken promise...}).   All the lives we compromise trying to cage a swarm.
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Jan 18, 2013
Jan 18, 2013 at 11:52 PM UTC
Relapse
Chasing rainbows in the dark Searching blindly Hopeless night sky Starless and lonely Blinding reflections On invisible water Navy blue and eggplant planet Sunless and smokey Flailing wildly Trying to grasp the unseen Knowing it's there Just out of reach
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Jun 10, 2010
Jun 10, 2010 at 3:00 PM UTC
Night Blindness
let's talk about his peanut butter thighs and his cashew eyes his cloaked voice that floods me when he speaks, and his big hands and thin fingers. Let's talk about all of his parts that make him whole and makes my eggplant legs go bump bump in the night.
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Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 12:30 PM UTC
peanut butter and eggplants
eggplant skies and zippers, this collect call counted. My buttons were tacky, and you had the liberty to push them; you unraveled them instead, as i was pushing the ones of your house phone - i spent quarters of my time on you.
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Feb 25, 2012
Feb 25, 2012 at 8:34 PM UTC
phone booth
The girl’s corneas expand over the small black abyss of pupil Tides of blue and hazel rising over onyx isles An unhinged eyelash balances precariously on its neighbor It evaporates with her quick blink Directly beneath her right eye Below the mottled eggplant shadows The corpse of a capillary drains among the freckles Subterranean rivers of vein Pulse under thin skin Her nose is spherical Etched by soft papery scars Pores round and gazing Culminating in a uniform valley Lips are soft and pink and unkissed A source for a small steady trickle of pride Her mother’s lips But behind the outer façade The seamed surface is rough with nervous nibbles Ribboned with scars of worries and troubles She lacks fourteen teeth Absent since the womb Those she has are either sickly infants or filled with grainy mystery metallics Some entirely fabricated with spatulas of amalgam Yellowed and cracking Rough and worn Spongy inner marrow screaming with pain She hides the stony incisors from view The hair Curling and waving Kissing with reptilian tongues at her cheeks Neck Forehead Framing her face in brambles and cowlicks Indecisive of its true form Fuzzy with moisture Unwilling to obey The strands of a gorgon A monstrous tangle of personality Instantly recognizable Her hands attempt to soothe the undulating tendrils But they anger As stubborn as her Refuse treatment She gives up Rinses her hands And turns away from the mirror Sighing
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May 31, 2013
May 31, 2013 at 11:48 PM UTC
Restroom Mirrors
Castelfranco Radicchio wilted slightly maintaining backbone Aubergine Du Burkina Faso Eggplant grilled in olive oil fresh ground peppercorn and basil gently laid onto a delicate bed bright green and fresh Cour Di Bue Cabbage Molokia Purple Sweet Potatoes julienne and drizzled La Vecchia Dispensa Balsamic Vinegar aged 100 years mingled with the brightest yellow Amarillo Carrot and thin rounds of a Jaune Paille Des Vertus Onion offsetting the purples and yellows with gleaming white – art presents itself as poetry via recipe in the fattest nation Earth has ever known –
0
Apr 5, 2016
Apr 5, 2016 at 11:47 AM UTC
just another salad poem.....
(I) So concretey, these jungles but not like this Glass shards shoot up 45 stories only to have tarp covered markets populated by shouters Oh, Powerpuff Girls on backpacks one green one purple one pink And 10 dollar Gucci bags these people have it made Four blocks from the world stock exchange these people have it made (II) You ain't had won ton noodle soup Or chicken feet Or shrimp stuffed eggplant Or food from Chinese franchise Pizza Huts which happens to be an escargot joint What does that say about US? hopefully not much (III) Red taxis between every other car Double decker busses more common than city pigeons Still the city finds time for trees whiskery ents rising out of ancient volcanic soil You would think it's a city full of sin Seven million souls, what- that's higher than I can count It's not Everyone here is cute and wrinkly Confucian except for the young These people have it made (IV) In this city, you're expected to stay home with mom and dad As they get cute and wrinkly you're to return the love Confucian these people have it made 11 seated dinners these people have it made (V) Here in this ancient city the gravestones dot the hills coat the hills And then the cremation jars bury the hills (yes, they're dead) cough Here's how a Chinese name is structured: [family name] [given name] Confucianism and then these names fade too These people have it made but it's alright.
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Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 8:18 AM UTC
Hong Kong
Poets, like doctors, know the anatomy of suffering... tearing the paper with rusty carving knives... We see scarlet scratches and eggplant colored bruises on every square inch of foolscap... we open scars with words... stainless steel scalpels which we never sanitize... We perform open heart surgery with blunt instruments... We cauterize the wounds with coals of Fire... We are civil war sawbones, removing the gangrenous leg to save the body... Carrying out our task with whiskey bottle anaesthesia. So have a care... The Doctor Is In. SoulSurvivor (C) 5/30/2016
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May 30, 2016
May 30, 2016 at 11:43 PM UTC
Sawbones
Flood every grocery sack with opened up noodle boxes. Ask the butcher for fresh chinook salmon. Bother the pharmasists for a secret remedy until he sighs and gives in. Give the lady yourcalifornia sunshine drivers license when she yawns and Has to make sure you can buy a bottle.  ( I imangined what happened after we danced.) She moved my pulse like safeways selectice bold brazillian roast. I believe her secret recipies for pickled seduction. Every first isle Leaves me happily underneath the celings act three popcorn Until I beg her to hold like fresh melting george forman grilled cheese (what I was looking for a long time from now) The iron clad grill Whisperes"you have found her missing grocery list".  Why has her bias condemmed possibilies canned tuna fish in oil. Theres nothing to see insider her locks of eggplant stems.  i can find a alternative way to cash my sacronized invisible receit stamped with red words raincbeck. I couldnt afford you impulse items.
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Sep 16, 2013
Sep 16, 2013 at 2:09 AM UTC
Flood every grocery sack
One of the world's worst opening lines, ever Darkness, three or four of them crossing the street to me My eyes down, trying to ignore Figures looming, coming closer My hometown downtown This doesn't happen here Wanna get with me? Hey! Other things: gross and ****** They're closer and he, who I don't look at reaches out and tries to grab my thigh Like he's tearing off a piece of bread But I'm solid milk chocolate not fudge His hand hits and grabs It feels like a wrench as he grips Digs for a hand hold, But there is none, just bone and solid me They walk past asking why I don't say hello Yelling as I shut them out And I remember when I was jumped Carrying a pizza home in NYC at night Pizza floated down in slow motion steam in the air A pile of eggplant and cheese freezing in the winter cold And the kid grabbed my jacket held an exacto knife and demanded my wallet As the rest stood around like watching a demonstration And I pulled free because a puffy jacket doesn't make a good hand hold And ran away, kids do that, the guard at Barnard said But this grip was different Had it caught hold Had they surrounded I would have feared for my life I walked away quickly, from them, from memory
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Nov 13, 2012
Nov 13, 2012 at 11:02 PM UTC
Hey Chunky
would you like to take a walk through my gardens now with me? with the loveliest of flower and the tiniest of pea? yes? good, well come along my darling now come along it's free, an let's go to the gardens to see what we can see well, I planted here some garlic from the garlic bulbs I had an the bok choy well it bolted and I lost it that's too bad but still it had some flowers though, so really not so sad, sigh, smile now, ; ) see the tomatoes look so happy lots to can, to cook an share the cucumbers are plenty see those guys are everywhere, those here are purple eggplant with soft delicate new flowers, an the weather has been perfect just so hot with scattered showers the chocolate mint like poetry WiLd and prolific dead head all the marigolds an boy they grow terrific, in lovely burning oranges and yellows you can eat, marigolds - nasturtiums are really such a treat and eating from my garden well really can't be beat, the kale is getting big, and my peppers hot an mild the pumpkins taking over like an ivy envy wild cosmos and green beans were started from a seed, radishes are too, look- I snuck 'em in between, basil and cilantro rosemary and sage, I could go on and on and write another page but really you should visit and come to see it now but thanks for reading this though vicarious somehow I'm still happy for to share my life and love today I hope you know I care an are soon here on your way even in grey skies for the growing I will pray, and I will be here waiting tending gardens come what may. Ma Cherie © 2017
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Jul 22, 2017
Jul 22, 2017 at 1:03 PM UTC
would you like to take a walk?
would you like to take a walk through my gardens now with me? with the loveliest of flower and the tiniest of pea? yes? good, well come along my darling now come along it's free, an let's go to the gardens to see what we can see well, I planted here some garlic from the garlic bulbs I had an the bok choy well it bolted and I lost it that's too bad but still it had some flowers though, so really not so sad, sigh, smile now, ; ) see the tomatoes look so happy lots to can, to cook an share the cucumbers are plenty see those guys are everywhere, those here are purple eggplant with soft delicate new flowers, an the weather has been perfect just so hot with scattered showers the chocolate mint like poetry WiLd and prolific dead head all the marigolds an boy they grow terrific, in lovely burning oranges and yellows you can eat, marigolds - nasturtiums are really such a treat and eating from my garden well really can't be beat, the kale is getting big, and my peppers hot an mild the pumpkins taking over like an ivy envy wild cosmos and green beans were started from a seed, radishes are too, look- I snuck 'em in between, basil and cilantro rosemary and sage, I could go on and on and write another page but really you should visit and come to see it now but thanks for reading this though vicarious somehow I'm still happy for to share my life and love today I hope you know I care an are soon here on your way even in grey skies for the growing I will pray, and I will be here waiting tending gardens come what may. Ma Cherie © 2017
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71
Admired. Required to perform. Feathers of turquoise and purple bruise my stage name. Belladonna. Blooming eggplant bright and dewy. Eyes dance and twinkle only for you. Indulge me my pet. Sharpen your knife. I feel like blood tonight. Tight smiles wreathed in crimson. Waiting. Waiting for release. Tear me open. Burn me down. Blow me away.
0
Sep 21, 2011
Sep 21, 2011 at 9:00 PM UTC
To Ashes
~for Pamela Rae~ you cannot amend reality by passing a law. if we could, then we should have one requiring society to guarantee a happy childhood. every **** time I propose to myself a resolution that I am an ok poet, I stumble on to a poet here of whom I was unaware, and you were, correctly aware, that brings a good light into the world, vowing to throw in the towel, the I'm ok resolution never passes, voted down 2 - 1; Against:  Myself, I In Favor: Me which necessitates try try again Einstein's Insanity Theorem fool proofed. Exclaim! what a goodly word.   If we ex'd our claims (need, due, want) more, walking in quiet contemplation, we could climb on our roof (I can) and proclaim (silently) glory glory hallelujah and it would not matter to whom  (which diety) we are addressing.   Outstanding! what a goodly word. If I could satisfy the claims against me outstanding, still unsatisfied, while I am yet among the living, especially the one that are self-propelled, that would be outstanding. I would rather the simple monetary motived corruption of a dishonest businessman, than the cowardly silence of the fools we elect to govern us, and gravely pretend to know what is good for us. I call this, My Theory of the Greater Corruption. Word Salad: making crazy combinations of words, i.e. eggplant smile, vegetable sunrise etc. hell, I just can't make any up, it is cheap and lazy crafty no craftsmanship, craftwomanship but very self/satisfying and tasty too,  I'm sure, and authentic 100%  b.s. The apocalypse is always nigh. Ironically, very true. Let's keep it that way. neigh neigh neigh. I write many more words than I speak;   by a very wide margin; this pleases me, by a very wide margin. complexification (yes, it is a real word) and glorification rhyme because they both end in shunned. In heaven, the following are outlawed: yoga, exercise, dieting, crying; denying and lying.   the latter obviate the former. glory glory hallelujah and hot **** >•> 4/18/17 2:43am
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Aug 18, 2017
Aug 18, 2017 at 3:21 AM UTC
musings miscellanea (amending reality)
~for Pamela Rae~ you cannot amend reality by passing a law. if we could, then we should have one requiring society to guarantee a happy childhood. every **** time I propose to myself a resolution that I am an ok poet, I stumble on to a poet here of whom I was unaware, and you were, correctly aware, that brings a good light into the world, vowing to throw in the towel, the I'm ok resolution never passes, voted down 2 - 1; Against:  Myself, I In Favor: Me which necessitates try try again Einstein's Insanity Theorem fool proofed. Exclaim! what a goodly word.   If we ex'd our claims (need, due, want) more, walking in quiet contemplation, we could climb on our roof (I can) and proclaim (silently) glory glory hallelujah and it would not matter to whom  (which diety) we are addressing.   Outstanding! what a goodly word. If I could satisfy the claims against me outstanding, still unsatisfied, while I am yet among the living, especially the one that are self-propelled, that would be outstanding. I would rather the simple monetary motived corruption of a dishonest businessman, than the cowardly silence of the fools we elect to govern us, and gravely pretend to know what is good for us. I call this, My Theory of the Greater Corruption. Word Salad: making crazy combinations of words, i.e. eggplant smile, vegetable sunrise etc. hell, I just can't make any up, it is cheap and lazy crafty no craftsmanship, craftwomanship but very self/satisfying and tasty too,  I'm sure, and authentic 100%  b.s. The apocalypse is always nigh. Ironically, very true. Let's keep it that way. neigh neigh neigh. I write many more words than I speak;   by a very wide margin; this pleases me, by a very wide margin. complexification (yes, it is a real word) and glorification rhyme because they both end in shunned. In heaven, the following are outlawed: yoga, exercise, dieting, crying; denying and lying.   the latter obviate the former. glory glory hallelujah and hot **** >•> 4/18/17 2:43am
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61
faded, stretch marks specking skin, lines etched into thighs and chest. minuscule, bijou ruby acne wounds; concealed behind bangs, not makeup. hidden, crescent fingernail indents in palms, holding a fist too tight. unavoidable, bumps on the backs of legs, almost as if crinkled paper ***** temporary, blood red threading and seams on waists, after shrinking jeans. saturated, sangria and eggplant sunsets ache to touch; swell slightly before recovery. these are my organic tattoos.
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Jul 10, 2017
Jul 10, 2017 at 4:20 AM UTC
organic tattoos
to henry, love elana: i miss you because i know the most action you’re getting these days is slipping an extra big tip into the delivery girl(who forgot the napkins again)’s hands, and i know her hands feel nothing like mine. so i’m sorry because we always had eggplant pizza together which everyone else thought was strange, because i miss you, because sometimes – i hint at you to our delivery girl so she’ll tell me how you’re doing (i hear you have the flu, drink some fluids other than dr. pepper, okay?). To Elana, Love Henry: I feel guilty for the time I asked our delivery girl if you were still ordering from our place. I miss you because I give her a bigger tip than usual now and sometimes I get pizza even if I’m not in the mood, just to hear from her that you had bags under your eyes tonight or your cousin got her acceptance letter from Barnard (Congratulations to her, by the way). The eggplant isn’t as satisfying as it used to be, so I turn the TV on. It helps drown out the quiet.
0
May 19, 2012
May 19, 2012 at 10:57 PM UTC
because,
I lean against a stucco building that has a turquoise whale painted on the sidewalk in front and pop in a piece of Wrigley’s as vendors unload eggplant and plump onions, two women walk past, one isn’t wearing a bra and the other should be wearing two, I see a neighbor listening as three Jamaican bucket drummers argue over cigars, my neighbor nods and flips his Pall Mall into the street, a gal walking a Lhasa Apso snuffs the cigarette with her heel, the dog hikes on a crate of cabbage sitting atop a guitar case; bravo to you God, a better morning I could not have lived.
0
Sep 12, 2016
Sep 12, 2016 at 8:10 AM UTC
Farmer's Market Prayer