"excretory" poems
I am half dead.
Like the crushed leaves beneath my feet.
They are almost brown but absolutely not green.
All I do is flitting from one side to another
senselessly
until I disappear
completely.
My body is cold and white like yours.
Though, you don’t have a body now,
I don’t have anybody.
To love.
But I know a soul which will never die.
It musn’t be a surprise that God keeps you out of my reach.
I would take all of you.
In one go.
Sweetest suicide ever.
While you are flowing through my throat
to my stomach,
I will destroy my excretory system
to keep you inside of me
for more than a little while.
I do love you, I love you twice.
How can you be so real and unreal at the same time?
I hate to fake myself but
“I think I made you up inside my head.”
@mosquitoism
December/2011
Mar 31, 2014
Mar 31, 2014 at 4:52 PM UTC
A new species still being studied-
They have a compulsive obsession with mutilating their bodies
They yank out hairs in the place on their face made for expression
Daily they scrape off natural hairs from their limbs
And from under them, considering the act as simple hygiene practice
Some will even lay in a chamber of radiation to cook skin browner
And smear a smelly cream to make the skin look slimy shiny and 'sexy'
They scorch their head hair to change the texture for a day
And they draw on their faces with crayons made from wax and oils
They prioritize displaying of the body shape over movement
With their tight denim body coverings and waist clinchers
They wear coverings of their feet with a stick replacing the heel
To look physically attractive, despite the injuries and lesions
They're expected to keep a casing over their chest tissues in public
They hide their pheromones with alcohol and fake smell of plants
They keep private and hidden that they perform excretory acts
And they're never content with the meat casing they're trapped inside
Only (almost) satisfied looking at their reflection and seeing a lie
Jun 5, 2016
Jun 5, 2016 at 7:31 PM UTC
blood blot
a hideous music
like fixed stars
a chaos of shattered glass
you can hang your hat on
bamboo shards make a ****** wound
gold spun hair
on floral linen
blemished soaking red
like a shaking rat in a cats mouth
Hazels glistening ****** a pretense
salutes celibacy and high end moisturizer toilet paper
to shock simplicities morals
of an excretory affair
a dark chandelier hangs in the balance
torpedo runnels through chambered knots
unleashing treacherous sanity
sins crib
theater of purgation
father forgive her
she took a ****
an idealist without ideals
the grand masturbator
a simulacrum of a lubed god
in nights dragging shade
oracle of a ruddy opera and legs over head
flexed crimson wattle rolls
theories invite anti theories
light invites darkness
silence yields
shadows throat
and cacophonous whispers
a grind house temple of gods and demons
in horrendous geometry
of inflicting malice
until the serpent ascends
from black pitch hells
like a bomb through the skull
lusts antidote
waterloo of the soul
annihilation point
the cadaver smiles
Jan 9, 2019
Jan 9, 2019 at 6:28 AM UTC
while out and about
an unexpected over bare ring bout
to defecate arose,
where sphincter asserted clout
and would excrete
despite without doubt...
if closing distance
(to reach rental abode)
beaten out by loosening sphincter muscle
transmitting excretory code
set sights on prowl for outlawed, secluded,
and wooded make shift commode
and essentially for naught negating
toddler toilet training, sans
getting ***** trained undone
via my ***** ready to explode
and blast immense solid waste byproduct
(oh...close to the size of Rhode Island)
thus a marathon race against time
found immediate readiness to pull off roadside
to access make shift water closet
generating image firmly in pooping mode
grabbing hold of a tree trunk
(a mini rocky horror picture show, -
this analogy included for no particular reason
other than as a non-sequitur)
and also to convey, how I tried
to allay distractions
while painful contractions flowed
(perhaps approximating a woman
on verge of giving birth)
but...no matter, aye could envision,
an ever increasing heavy m**f*** load
hence approaching Highland Manor Apartments
this chap abandoned
prior simultaneous evacuation plan
starkly aware probability for secluded spot sunk
(nonetheless, thy darting darting
anguish, futile lizard like lookout,
a geico Gekko whose cheeks did blush
even for a measly Georgian bush
quickened nsync with ****** spasms
visual scouting industrialized
where backhoes didst crush
once a time sacred happy hunting grounds
of native Americans, now flush
with newly built vinyl city re: urban sprawl a gush,
where cookie cutter houses long since bringing hush
puppies muzzled, yet never the less and mush
a doo doo about nothing) except sprint
ting to a void push
immortalizing indigenous tribes ghosts rush
peopling infrastructure affixing
urbanization with their warrior whoosh!
Apr 19, 2018
Apr 19, 2018 at 4:25 PM UTC
i’m a nuisance,
warm to the touch
yet I’m bile,
releasing pungent fumes
reeking of filth
recognized but avoided
nothing
****
excretory waste
always
left behind
Nov 23, 2014
Nov 23, 2014 at 3:26 PM UTC
less than twenty four hours after dashing off a poem
explaining why i wanted to die
found me experiencing physical duress vis a vis,
a bowel movement wherein waste unable to expel
from the **** of this guy
which bout with ****** obstruction
found me doubled over
with lower abdominal distress
whereby comfort found me unable to lie
down nor sit upright (with back padded with pillows
against the cellar brick wall),
thus severe bloating a bonus well nigh
and managed to muster the means to bare
frigid arctic vortex aire to purchase
the Acme brand Metamucil,
which akin to drano doth ply
thru the excretory tract
supposedly loosening the stools,
which optimism (product
didst earn claim to fame) generated a sigh
if that expressed intent
to cease livingsocial would try
humph enjoining
this lvii year old married male
to cede victory
to the grim reaper, who would vie
as winner de jure
to this common fellow invoking libretto
ohm resistant understudy waste not want not
allowing, enabling and providing relief,
without successful defecation
despite the oppressive urge to bolster this uriah
heap of balled up and tuckered i.e. pooped out
five foot and ten inches of lovely bones
thence mouthing retraction
of former thought to cease existing,
though a non-bull lever
in any power broker qua mankind
relief at long last
provided posterior answered prayer
yet, this scrivener scrutinizes
his recurring pain in the *** jagged torture
and asks
a rhetorical one word question "WHY"?
Apr 11, 2018
Apr 11, 2018 at 3:13 PM UTC
Lets get over the stupid **** about God and the Devil
Satan is the serpent power
originating at the base of the spine, this is primal power corresponding to the id
With out Satan you would be dead
This power regulates primal autonomic excretory and ****** functions, ie. survival and supports the higher activities of the body mind and soul
corresponding to the ego and super ego, your God
The ego is and integrative mechanism that stands between Id and the super ego ie Devil or Id and God or the super ego
The id is the original primal survival mechanism and true will not to be ignored or denied
The light is born of the darkness and is born-less
The darkness is eternal and the light is everywhere within her
The super ego is discernment ...principal ....reason...ethics and ideation's of mythic heroes , not to be ignored or denied
In religion aspects of the higher self are personified as a Christ, Buddha, Krishna etc when God takes human form
and the Devil is personified as Satan, Asuras Beelzebub Demons or various miscreants in human form
If Christians adhered strictly to total purity they would have to insist on castrations and analectomies to purge their so called evil elements and die because surviving with out the lower is undoable
conversely the Satanists would require lobotomies or being guillotined because living without essential principals is indoable
God and the Devil are not mutually exclusive except when they're viewed through the maw of religion...God and the Devil are different sides of the very same coin
In the royal yoga of the the east when the serpent power ascends up the spinal column the id, ego and super ego are instantaneously integrated and transcended into an all together different order and the fractured nature of self is over come by unity
This unity transcends all myth and concepts of god ie. religion ethics morality
It is a totally transcendent order..
In western terms as a human you stand between the the higher and the lower
Spiritual evolution is not about taking sides its about the integration towards a whole self
You are potentially the magician who mobilizes the lower to serve the higher
This may be an over simplification but
you use your demons to create a base ...they are work slaves to get money so you can go to your temple, your home...the higher self in effect and reflect on the beauty of life
.helllooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo
CAN WE **** NOW :)
Sep 26, 2017
Sep 26, 2017 at 3:08 PM UTC
aye savor the faire genetic blueprint
extant unique to each of us
with this quite alimentary aire
including (that almighty,
bottom, cushiony, dimpled,
excretory functioning Gluteus Maximus
i.e. the ***** when bare
with subtle difference sans,
both halves at first blush,
but tucks upon closer scrutiny
obvious inexactness crystal clear
as a bell jar, asper each body electric,
whence deserved of en dear
ments despite however much junk in the trunk
behind the private
no trespassing (non verbalized)
signs posted everywhere
off limits only to a select few like this bard
attired as if from the Renaissance Faire
whose unconditional acceptance
unlike the majority hoo gawk and glare
if bipedal hominid dealt
chromosomal traits say with excessive hair
which mane of tangled strands,
could be problematic and interfere
with coaxing, finagling,
or inducing friendship with an initial jeer
from him or her averse
toward such imperfection to boot
huff lawed physical human specimen
such as this ole coot
(who haint really that old),
can upon command execute
a feigned display
and appealing as fresh field picked fruit
at this stage of ma life
donut give a rats *** nor an owlish hoot
what other may decry about me,
cuz self acceptance doth agree
buzzing with greater confidence, esteem,
and general weaknesses such
as lack of physiognomy incongruent cee,
which asymmetry of this primate feel free
er than his pre/post pubescent
corporeal essence he
near put himself in the hand
of that grim reaper, a key
poor of lifeless beings,
and well nigh got hold da mee
when in the throes up
(vis a vis not bulimia) on Swiss side prithee
and as a solitary mwm gives no re
guard no matter others may find fault
in the stars at my lack of sim mutt tree
gnome hatter judgements made
I accept mice elf warts and all – yippee!
Nov 4, 2017
Nov 4, 2017 at 3:49 PM UTC
less than twenty four hours after dashing off a poem
explaining why i wanted to die
found me experiencing physical duress vis a vis,
a bowel movement wherein waste unable to expel
from the **** of this guy
which bout with ****** obstruction
found me doubled over
with lower abdominal distress
whereby comfort found me unable to lie
down nor sit upright (with back padded with pillows
against the cellar brick wall),
thus severe bloating a bonus well nigh
and managed to muster the means to bare
frigid arctic vortex aire to purchase
the Acme brand Metamucil,
which akin to drano doth ply
thru the excretory tract
supposedly loosening the stools,
which optimism (product
didst earn claim to fame) generated a sigh
if that expressed intent
to cease livingsocial would try
humph enjoining
this lvii year old married male
to cede victory
to the grim reaper, who would vie
as winner de jure
to this common fellow invoking libretto
ohm resistant understudy waste not want not
allowing, enabling and providing relief,
without successful defecation
despite the oppressive urge to bolster this uriah
heap of balled up and tuckered i.e. pooped out
five foot and ten inches of lovely bones
thence mouthing retraction
of former thought to cease existing,
though a non-bull lever
in any power broker qua mankind
relief at long last
provided posterior answered prayer
yet, this scrivener scrutinizes
his recurring pain in the *** jagged torture
and asks
a rhetorical one word question "WHY"?
Jan 9, 2018
Jan 9, 2018 at 12:58 AM UTC
theres much about
every aspect of life
that is a violently alternating antagonism
of expulsion and absorption
love and hate
for half of life is an excretory rite
are we cowed
by subtle prohibitions
permitting only
a charmed
poetic version of the world
that stoops to be a projection
of unreality as superior
like pie in the sky religion
with an unconscious mission
to degrade ****** reality
poets affirmations of vainglory
buried in obfuscation
and ingratiating metaphors
word salad
evoke
poet as coward
unwilling to satisfy
souls in search of
there own buried parts
generating
habitual secret bitterness
in avoidance
of elaborations
deepest inner desires
or worse yet
apathy
is to much of poetry
a guano infested dust bin
of niceties
an abandoned
mouldering hovel
spinster musings
literatures dark corpse ?
Feb 25, 2017
Feb 25, 2017 at 5:24 PM UTC