"enormities" poems
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how I
drool over obese girls
with huge great cheeks
of wobbly dimpled fat
>========o======== no skinny birds for me!=======o========<
absolutely no way
yeeha
i love to see wobbly
fat girls waddling along
with their tyres of white flab
quivering in their size 88 jeans
like a pack of rabid rabbits fighting
in a rubber sack, and what do they need
yessir, they are barking for a friendly *****
from moi, edna the chubby-chaser and lover
of gorgeous female flesh body mass index forty
(at an absolute total minimum i must emphasise)
and preferable fifty so they look like a giant dumpling
i know you know the sort of image i crave: dimpled, dappled
acreages of heaving ********** wowee-yowee i am so excited
please god lead me to the land where the extra supersize fatties live
and let me exhaust my ***** gaze on their incredible buxom enormities
let me get my paws on them let me wallow in their glories dear god
oh yes indeedy when you come to think of it there's nothing like
a huge billowing fatso to get my blood afire with testosterone
and bottom-of-the-barrel-scraping loving lust
so why not jump off a pier
all you skinny minnies
per-lease
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Jan 7, 2015
Jan 7, 2015 at 12:48 PM UTC
I want my heart to feel like the great Salt Lakes, reaching towards each other, constantly suspended in the moment just before contact. I want to build this anticipation, but my patience is shorter than your last haircut, when we sat by the river to discuss model trains.
I want my mind to feel like a hummingbird when it finally lands to rest on the red plastic device filled with sugar water outside my mother’s kitchen window, but I’m quite a ways from home now and have been for a while.
I want my stomach to feel like the tree roots, the red oaks, the ones that dwarf me and that I know would let me get my favorite kind of lost in their home, the kind we planned on visiting after graduation, but I am usually stuck in maple sap.
I want my mouth to taste like strawberries, ripened scarlet in the sun, the kind my tall friend’s mother mashes up with sour rhubarb for the perfect jam to last us through winter, but more often than not, my teeth are coffee-stained and my tongue tends to be too sharp for delicate berries.
I want my skin to feel like satin ribbons, the kind that tie little girl sashes before holy events and parties where they dance on their father’s toes for the first time, and find it perfectly marvelous, but I am covered in scratches and marks from building enormities.
I am a patchwork from the most meaningless scraps. I was a junkyard doll with mismatch buttons eyes and melted cardboard shoes. My head is a garbage heap left out too long, my eyes are scooping all of it up, and my dress is made of someone else’s throwaway linen. My aluminum can hands stretch out for anyone’s how-town while I think of shoestring revues and paper mache.
Jul 10, 2014
Jul 10, 2014 at 11:52 PM UTC
Pair up and be saved.
Pair up and look away.
Avert your eyes to the most depraved in our times:
The Herods, Caligulas, the Dorian Grays.
Focus on your own lives;
raise a family.
Fight those wanton propensities.
Avoid flagrant conviviality.
Do not cross that line of becoming too free.
Like those so many victims of their own enormities,
each one a slave to their every desire and whim.
Pair up and be shipped off -
delivered from sin.
Aug 25, 2014
Aug 25, 2014 at 11:30 PM UTC
This is my sanctuary
a sylvan of serenity
(soothing my sanity)
my stellar solace of sanctity
my strange & soaring Fantasies
superior to Realities
(with all its sick Enormities)
I’d stay asleep for Eternities
Stray from society
with a sudden spontaneity
To the sweet sensuality
Of a night’s serendipity
Oct 16, 2016
Oct 16, 2016 at 2:11 PM UTC
Rendering summer’s mid day
Looking back at autumn’s memories
A warm winter having winds of may
Yonder saddened by tears of enormities
It is a difficult and intertwined world
Little by little we became distant
We became obsess with wealth
Forgotten to what is more important
What will words could ever be
Thoughts, farthest words form probably
In the place rainbow born and dies
And where the end of this life lies
When do you think people die?
When the heart stops beating?
When the body is as cold as ice?
It’s when.. they’re forgotten
Apr 22, 2020
Apr 22, 2020 at 2:51 AM UTC
Reptilian Whisperings
*Ipse *** caro sit reservat iram, et propitiationem petit a Deo: quis exorabit pro delictis illius*?
He that is but flesh, nourisheth anger, and doth he ask forgiveness of God? who shall obtain pardon for his sins?
-Ecclesiasticus 28:5
Like Cleopatra’s asp they want to cuddle
Against one’s heart: resentments slithering
About, indignities, enormities
Demanding incessant indulgences
Their reptilian whisperings hissering
Self-pity, inverted self-spiraling,
In closing, falling, dying loops until
Nothing is left even to pity itself
They are writhing about us even now -
Like Cleopatra’s asp they want to cuddle
Sep 17, 2017
Sep 17, 2017 at 3:03 PM UTC
poverty a calendar we pay for monthly. birth a loudmouth. my other yacht is a crow.
Sep 9, 2016
Sep 9, 2016 at 12:09 AM UTC