"fixation" poems
#
*This coup
A new nation
Loyal dedication
Its classification*
‘Species procreation’
Prevents us from facing
A human cessation
selective mutation
Gestation
Creation
It may help explaining
The reasons
Behaving
*But not the foundation
Or actions
We’re basing*
A simplification
is “continuation”
A checkbox
left vacant
*Fulfillment
We’re chasing*
We sweat
Eyes are gazing
A slight
palpitation
In need of hydration
Complete excitation
Without
hesitation
Intense stimulation
**Deep urges
Heart racing**
*Driven
By sensations*
**Unbounded fixation
Pelvic
Undulations
Clothing
Perforations
Time no longer wasting**
***This capitulation
a Sanctification
****** gyrations
Hint of ***********
The bedroom
Safe haven
For what
we are craving
*Once out
and displaying*
It all had been taken
Before
Feeling vacant
Freed imagination
A resuscitation
Indulged depravation
A rhythm
we’re setting
The giving and getting
**Destroying
the bedding**
All else I’m forgetting
Entwined
with each other
Like entangled netting
*Both
on the same trip
In a unified heading*
Now comes
the summation
A true
Revelation
Final
culmination
Smash all expectations
***Volcanic
eruption***
That lasts the duration
**Loud gasp
We unlock**
Filled with gratification
#
Jul 10, 2018
Jul 10, 2018 at 3:19 AM UTC
Umm, the presence and scent of a man
Magnetic attraction where his feet stands
His natural body charismatic aroma
Element of charms, seeping to awaken a woman out a sensual coma
Is it his eyes, the soul behind his life’s mysteries
Flirtation in his smile, tells me he has an undercover ****** history
It is his nose that smells out my charms
An enticing deep baritone voice, his spoken words, which turns me on
Is it the erratic heartbeat he has for a woman, his passionate relent
Stealing my breath, as he tenderly seals my lips in an impassioned moment of content
The strength in his biceps
His triceps
Strong, yet such comforting arms
An epitome of steel, circled around a woman in winter life’s storms
In the cold of night, his body providing your heated warmth
His chest, a hard pillow to tell your doubts, your uncertainties, your fears
Pulling you closer onto it, his reassuring words eradicating your tears
His intellectual mind to think as a man
A stimulating, slam bam and thank you ma’am, or your personal grand slam
His weakening love, taking your body beyond the stars
Woman from Venus, my handsome Man for Mars
His groin, and his family jewels from which it springs forth
Erected compass of his wand now pointing North
A woman’s reservation to tease, please, stroke, or allow it to choke
His loud murmurs shadowing your moans, echoing in the wind
**** I love the presence of men, and his undulated carnal sins
From the first taste of honey dipped Butter *** me
As his giving oral fixation is traveling free
Freeing the elixir of juices that deems to flee
His hairy legs as he stands to lift my weight
In the shower, no wait, as I anticipate
Hooking my twerking bait
His physique in general…Oh, God thank you
Without the scent of a man, we women would not know what to do
Your presence to a woman is our earthly food
Our je ne sais quoi for our every ****** mood
Rather you are standing, lying still, or upside down
The blissful 69 number conquered as we’re fooling around
My Dream Weaver
My distance heartbeat receiver
His dripping sweat
Droplets to my skin have been met
The presence and scent of a man holds me throughout the night as our eyes finally rest
Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 10:00 AM UTC
Precarious Life
Migration in the Age of Globalization
Various Strife
Cessation in the wage of translation
Starvation in our under age narration
Is opportunity worth the cost
Bifurcation of our to be nations
Will we make it across
Vicariously rife
Location of our permanent vacation
Hilarious fife
Hesitation in the living wage stagnation
Resignation of our own home nation
Will anything become lost
Frustration in this age of relocation
Will we make it across
Gregarious life
Migration in the age of inflation
Precarious Life
Stagflation been gauged with low expectations
Automation when we enrage damnation
It shall be worth the cost
Fixation on a whole new acclimation
Will we make it across
Nov 2, 2014
Nov 2, 2014 at 2:46 PM UTC
Your acknowledgement, your praise
The words I've wanted to hear for years
The daydreams that put me in a daze
All the hate settled upon my mirrors
I understand that this is all owed to desperation
I understand you have never felt what I once did
And this very strange fixation
Is because; my insecurity you do rid
They may all be lies
Fibs to which I would never succumb
But, from the despair and fear, you've shielded my eyes
and I no longer feel numb
You have not healed me
I am far from this
But I feel free
From All the painful reminisce
Jul 12, 2014
Jul 12, 2014 at 8:53 PM UTC
Graciously kneeling before me;
Driven by thirst.
Coerced by lust.
curropted by desire.
Entranced by your aura.
Raw passion eruding flesh.
Your swells: their embodiment.
Fixated on the rush---
May 24, 2015
May 24, 2015 at 9:59 PM UTC
Now let us pray.
May hellfire rain down
on us today, on all those who
offered pay in
full metal change to watch
the life sized lights explode
& wicked witches
hanging by the throat
from a tenth floor window
it was all so cool.
so cool.
demon induced
dementia cemented in
an underground parking garage
sleepover
sleepless
starry eyed orphan
**** princess-
apparel section
regressing to an
oral fixation & a
need to keep the
fingers busy.
pink **** carpet
heart shaped atrocity
rotten thing.
you ain't the boss of me
paleface
scarab angel
seraph snake
made up cheap
heart tarnished
purely
black comedy
legs like a limousine
keeping company with
the holy cross
dressers on the
local drug scene.
oh how special.
yesterday
I fed my
edificial fetish
& I could not
stop thinking.
these high
arched ceilings.
could not contain
my feelings,
if they tried.
drive by advertisements
remind me there's
not much
to be excited about.
Jun 13, 2015
Jun 13, 2015 at 6:23 AM UTC
The sun bakes down heavily on a plastic micro planet in Orlando, Florida
where crowded trams drop American bushels of tourists into an alien world.
Quickly fantasy comes alive
through a corporation of disguise.
The workers mask themselves in a drapery of familiar life
-like costumes to charm little children’s hearts.
They smile wildly, carving a clear dimple line on the but of their cheeks. Walt’s Disney World
must have driven every one of America’s circuses out of business.
The flying trapeze is too elegant,
people now want to be strapped in,
buckled up and whipped around
to forcibly experience the true velocity of entertainment.
Even the participant’s attire is geared for this third world oblivion. Neon ***** packs rest like bloated kangaroo pouches
on fat sweaty old lady’s round hips, their plump fingers
holding on to leashed harnesses reined to their child’s small chest.
This is vacation,
strangers of people in massive conglomerations
with confused expressions and burnt faces.
Even the food seems wickedly unnatural,
like an artificial order of burning plastic and sour dough surprise.
Waiting is the enthusiast’s pastime as parades
of anxious voyeurs are captivated by a trance
fixation of lights and whistles.
They line up like schools of lemming,
plunging on rides,
one by one.
This is the place
Where memories are made
And dreams come true
Sep 25, 2010
Sep 25, 2010 at 12:25 PM UTC
*Stranded in a car,
Parking lot castaway,
Babylonian sunset,
A star sleeping on regret,
The cold street lights now casting spells,
Down upon a pale face with these eyes painted,
With their shadows*
The rain soldiers are marching in,
They'll crown me with their arrows,
I am the queen of the orphans,
A city for a throne,
And heartless chest for a scepter,
It is rumored that there was a cool of the day,
But it is not found here,
If birds had songs then,
They choke and spit out cruel laughter now,
Therefore the gulls migrated to die on asphalt,
To collect the filth I leave upon the earth,
I have sticky fingers on me you see,
Attached to soggy gloves
**The rats keep eating at my bed,
The rats keep eating at my bed,
The rats keep eating at my bed,**
I cannot sleep tonight,
**The rats keep eating at my bed,
But feed the rabbits,
Feed the rabbits,
Feed the rabbits,
Feed the rabbits**,
The Commercialized Army is pressing in,
Following the systematic skein of procedure,
**Knit the net,
Produce,
Consume,
Expire,
Produce,
Consume,
Expire,
Knit the net,
Catch me,
Catch me,
Catch me,
Knit the net**
I shouldn't be here
Where can I find it?
I shouldn't be here
Where can I find it?
Will I stop myself?
I shouldn't be here
Where can I find it?
Will I stop myself?
Time moves too slow
I shouldn't be here,
Where can I find it?
Will I stop myself?
Time moves too slow
I shouldn't be-
And The Sun Goes
Down,
In,
My,
Brown,
Eyes,
Twilight fixation,
The orange star sleeps in the smog,
My mind in its fog,
Here comes the pale ghost eye,
Peaking through his veil,
Midnight fixation,
Staring down,
On my brown eye island
Where I washed ashore
Jul 1, 2013
Jul 1, 2013 at 12:44 AM UTC
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
This is the story of two lonely souls....
Who found each other, without cajoles...
Neither had ever had a mate....
Yet Jack and Gill decided to date.....
They felt an instant connection....
As both were Chefs and had a fixation....
One for Chicken the other for Bacon....
And so decided to take their direction....
From what they had learned in life....
Party animals that they were....
And perhaps now you can concure.....
Their feelings for each other....
Was so far from any another....
People just didn’t understand....
Why when they walked, it was always hand in hand....
They never strayed and held tight to their ways....
Believing their world was just another phase....
But eventually the world would accept you see....
That what they had was called * “ smaltzy “....
*Yiddish word for rendered chicken / animal fat or a garish over the top fancy party...
Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 11:28 PM UTC
Your touch closes my eyes
I let your words traumatise my mind
Your breath dampens my skin,
Provoking apocalyptic thoughts from within
The trickle of your touch
Is eating at my mind,
I keep your desires fed,
Thirst and hatred intertwined
Disrupting my insides
My lips escape discordant harmonies,
As in you I confide,
That the truth's foreign to my eyes
You remain my fixation
A sinister hallucination
Occurrences of formination
Are my self-rehabilitation
Apr 18, 2014
Apr 18, 2014 at 9:26 AM UTC
Your face, full of elation.
Sweet perfection, no frustration.
Summer memories, nostalgia hemorrhage.
Let's stay here, far from Anchorage.
What you've taught me, you might never know.
Wherever you are, that's where the wind blows.
Currently, these currents take me to you.
An act, time and again, time could never subdue.
While we do reside in the days long after,
Never could these months be a diminishing chapter.
I can feel them still, as relevant as ever.
The prime cultivation for something that will grow forever.
Close your eyes, I'm sure you can see those nights.
When loves only concern was to avoid a sugar spike.
This new captivation, this magnified fixation,
The love savior, our separate emotional asphyxiation.
That innocence needs not be continually longed after,
Because for now we shall continue writing, until we reach our final chapter.
Aug 15, 2014
Aug 15, 2014 at 9:43 PM UTC
Tirelessly I am searching
Reaching for another answer or something else that makes sense
A self-fulfilling prophecy - I shoot myself in the face
Unavoidable
Desolate and Worthless.
I am the source of my deepest grief
An obsession and fixation that can not be shaken.
I am forsaken
Lost
It is the only path that I choose
My muse - I may never let this go
With me in my dreams forever
"I will be scarred for life"
Nov 16, 2016
Nov 16, 2016 at 6:48 PM UTC
Two snowflakes descend toward the ground.
One lands on the head of a man,
The other on the outstretched tongue of a woman.
The man thinks little of his snowflake,
while the woman is slightly amused by hers.
The man sees his as one of many landing at once,
while the woman's snowflake stands out.
During the descent of these snowflakes,
two things happen in particular.
The man is staring at the woman,
while he bumps into a passerby.
A student is taking a test,
while his friend is sleeping through it.
The snowflakes collide with the man and woman
in a seemingly accidental way.
The man and woman are unaware
of any particular snowflake coming at them.
But the snowflakes seem to follow a path
dictated by the wind,
as if aiming for their target.
The man is unaware of the passing woman
because of his fixation on another.
The man, along with the passing woman,
is also unaware
that they will be married in the future.
The student taking the test
will receive an A in the class.
The student sleeping will receive a C.
They each will go on to graduate
and have similar jobs.
The life of a snowflake is short,
but it has infinite forms.
It will melt, reform, and descend many more times.
The snowflake won't be significant
to its target in each life,
but the snowflake is not phased by this,
for it will have many more attempts.
Human life is like the descent of a snowflake.
It is made up of small moments
that we may or may not be aware of,
and that may or may not be significant.
Its time span is short,
and even when it is significant,
the significance is slight.
Unlike the snowflake,
humans aren't certain of having infinite forms.
The life that exists now
may be the only one given.
Human life should be spent
like the snowflake aiming for the tongue.
There's no guarantee that you'll make it,
or be remembered for it,
but if you have no direction,
there's no guarantee you'll have another chance.
Sep 25, 2012
Sep 25, 2012 at 1:46 AM UTC
we are free to be
_whatever we please_
whether or not
any others agree
our distinct vibration
shifts all of the nations
and our unique ways
are the _cosmic-hydration_
with _no need for fixation_
on anothers’ dictation
we rid ourselves of
any self-love cessation
we _explode in our glory_
all free from filtration
and use our relations
for human salvation
let us be who we are
embracing each scar
our imperfect nature
keeps us _reaching far_
releasing self-judgement
with our hearts kept ajar
we can see that our falls
_were just crossroads to stars_
Sep 1, 2018
Sep 1, 2018 at 12:39 PM UTC
She doesn't exactly follow an ambition to be part of a new world
She isn't exactly the definition of your typical post-modern-feminist girl
I'm sorry princess, that you had to have me on this day
But you could have made it easier to find something to say
Jumped up and done some doing about how my foot got in my mouth this way
Instead you're sitting, pouting pretty cause your pretense won't get played
I'll watch you smoke your cigarette, while you're in your loose thread Sunday clothes,
Let's take one of those strings, hold your dress to the wind and see if it floats
Disposable cameras,
Forever fights.
Forever cameras,
Disposable nights.
Hey there weary stranger, I'm sorry I got you confused,
It's just in my lamer moments like this, I don't know what to do,
My silence won't tell you you're beautiful, so I overload and surge through the fuse,
Let me shut up and take you to dinner, if you're lucky we'll both get used.
We're so over the disposable camera generation,
Disposable cameras,
Forever fights.
Now it's a forever rolling fixation,
Forever cameras,
Disposable nights.
So watch out how you smile,
Maybe try to be nice,
Cause if happiness is found in teeth, I friend the crocodile,
And the coolest cats do the same for the mice
So watch out how you smile,
Maybe try to be nice,
Cause if happiness is found in fangs flashed then I friend the crocodile,
And the coolest cats do the same for the mice
We're so over the disposable camera generation,
Disposable cameras, make way for
Forever fights.
Now it's a forever rolling fixation,
Forever cameras, only roll on
Disposable nights.
Nov 7, 2013
Nov 7, 2013 at 1:22 PM UTC
I come awake at 2 am each day,
My body yearning for yours.
But am always alone. So alone.
I check my messages hoping you are awake.
I long to read that you're thinking of me too.
Whatsapp has become a painful poke,
That you were up and not thinking of me.
I wonder if you think of some other girl, like I do of you.
I try to get back to sleep,
But all I dream are pictures of you.
Taking me away from pain.
Loving me the way I want you to.
Even my dreams don't go right.
My sub conscious senses it isn't you.
I sink to the depths of sorrow.
I wallow in tears and self pity.
Is this love?
This pain when you hurt me,
that drives a knife through my chest?
This constant delusion that you didn't mean to.
The fixation on you alone.
Is it you or the idea of you that pleases me?
You break me into a million pieces,
And still I wait for you to fix me.
Jul 14, 2013
Jul 14, 2013 at 12:54 AM UTC
moment to moment
we are the sum total of
our chemicals
we think of ourselves
we think of others
as an average of our
time and spacial synergy
an anatomical amalgam
a biological brine
frankensteins with
personalities, commonalities and
unique agendas
sprinkled with neuroses that
range from microscopic to
catastrophic, whether
chemical reaction or
hyperbolic extraction
you can choose to
canonize or demonize
as long as you can
recognize
the flesh and the blood
versus the fantasized
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 1:46 AM UTC
Start with a word, any word.
And then a year later you might find a hundred pages.
A story just begun, a tale, that, in reality, needs some editing.
But I didn’t find myself in these pages I’d written, like the inspirational quotes say.
I found my characters, I found a few bad habits too,
Like how I bite my fingers as I stare at my computer in frustration,
Or stare at the wall in blank fixation.
Once the word is picked, don’t bleed out onto the screen,
Hold yourself together, else you won't have to lips to pour forth a single key.
Some old dude told you to bleed, didn’t he?
I’ve found, I don’t bleed until page 71,
When I have bonded with Jonathon,
And now I must watch him mourn his fiancee,
Who never got to propose.
Be careful about your planning. Too methodical,
And you’ll lose yourself in the untold parts,
Too spontaneous and you’ll see your story turned from
An epic dragon escape to a horror filled romance.
Find a medium of crazy that suits you, and remember the details
Of the night you tried marijuana and coughed as the smoke hit your throat.
Hug the computer tight, don’t let anyone see
Until you’ve determined the story strong. Some people open up at the blank page,
While others hide it away until it’s a polished four hundred and sixty two, front and back.
Say, here’s an idea—don’t forget to study your grammar too.
Unless, of course, you’re poetry demands to be free,
then flow round the corner and hesitate not with commas
theyll be no use for you.
After all this advice, I’ll tell you one thing.
Forget all of it, it’ll be nothing to you.
We storytellers like to go on and on about how to write,
When we barely ever write a real story of characters in between speeches.
If the only thing I could tell you, the only important fact I can say with utter certainty is,
For god’s sake,
Write.
Sep 9, 2018
Sep 9, 2018 at 10:11 PM UTC
I feel like I’m ******* drowning again
All over again
Drowning in myself
Drowning in the lack of him
Drowning in the immense space between us
I took so many hits last night I shook and spasmed for two hours before I could sleep
But at least I wasn’t thinking about him
It’s okay
I’m not drowning
I’m okay
I’m not drowning
I’m not drowning
I’m not drowning
I’m not
Drowning
Drowning
Drowning
Drowning
Jun 25, 2021
Jun 25, 2021 at 3:27 AM UTC
rolling in the rosy dish of my tongue
it returns in my mouth to
its most basic elements
a primordial alabaster foam
of corn syrup and gelatin
and unpronounceable would-rather-not-knows
i think: marshmallows
are the juxtaposition to my quaker pallet
microwave tap water&Fry;'s Cocoa
awash and dissolve
my saccharine oral fixation
in jealous slurps of heat
that radiate down
down down
heat, you see-
(as a sakura flush
blossoms 'cross the
pale of my throat)
-has always been the key
here's a secret:
in solitude i
i'm a homunculous girl
all lips and all hands
Feb 10, 2012
Feb 10, 2012 at 7:46 PM UTC
An oral fixation
Perhaps falsified, as an excuse-
Skin, turned to hard rubber
Lips, turned to lust
A tongue, turned to love
A caress doesn't have to come from hands.
Sep 5, 2010
Sep 5, 2010 at 1:19 PM UTC
My Lucifer, unwitting Muse, dog-eared Vonnegut,
afrobeatnik third eye, howls escaping
from your headphones, wailing about secrets, about infidelity,
about analyzing life until there ain’t nothin’
left. Then you shuffle by in your black and white Adidas,
hair in twists, wearing the striped sweater
of nihilistic intent, quoting the rants of Holden Caulfield
in your blog like you never didn’t know him.
I never asked to know you, to want who I can’t have
when I can’t even love myself. And every fiber
Of my being yearns for reciprocation. What is there
to return? What is there to feel, you meditate on truth,
fallen angel in the parlor of rebellion, blasphemous goodbye,
bright and morning star simpering like crickets in the palms
of daybreak. Your musicality radiates from subway chatter
and overheard profanity down El Camino Real.
I take in your ballad at my post office mailbox,
in the abandoned echoes of daydream monologues.
You’re a philosopher, exploring theory of mind, a cartographer,
mapping the labyrinth of your deepest desires.
Tell me again about desires, demonstrations of divine sadism. Tell me
about human empathy, the animated faces of wordless expression,
the metaphysics of free will, my beginning and my end,
alpha and omega, my fortress in the land of chic.
Blasphemous hustler, let your idealism simmer, your wit, your mojo,
I come to you an amateur, a neophyte, a lowly scab
in the strike against ignorance. Give me my melody, my song,
my one-hit-wonder of all that is cliché and unknown.
But I can’t be the other woman, your girlfriend, your aspiring
Playboy bunny only 10-bucks-a-throw. Your highness-who-yells-
his-ideas-into-the-ears-of-echoes, your every quirk spellbinds me.
Each day I wake to your entourage vibrato.
I am held captive by your brooding stare, empress of liberal
doves. You visit in my dreams when the sky is a force of darkness
viewing light through peepholes, your flaws an aphrodisiac, a love drug,
a fast hit in the basement from the ecstasy of words.
Aug 1, 2012
Aug 1, 2012 at 5:37 AM UTC
but finality in all series of things
seriousness, or was it
lackadaisical thought offspring
blooms walls of drooping eye?
air-tight space, its coalition
with inward breaking penumbra
of shadow,
i write a poem so as not a poem
but an antagonism of sorts
to the end that does not smell of sandalwood but
the fixation of the word
as scent plays with memory,
a fragrance of spring in all that is winter
casting
a shadow upon me, you,
if not all.
Nov 12, 2015
Nov 12, 2015 at 4:01 AM UTC
I’ve summed up the equation for my isolation
It's People who look up, look down, left and right
Desperate for information
We never looked inside for much needed inspiration
Instead,
We lead a life of impulsive behavior mixed with preoccupation for our own reputation
I've lost toleration for the weak minded population
Individual thoughts slowly decay and eventually cut off circulation
Sending thoughts on permanent vacation, worthy of respiration, ideas now suffer suffocation
If this is my "generation"
I’d rather live in hibernation
You can take this as retaliation
I just don’t understand why we seek gratification for having no imagination?
I swear,
It’s like the world around me is nothing more Than telecommunication
Different voices yet the same conversation
Broad interpretation leaves room for destructive **********
Shedding uniqueness for trendy consolidation
**Who the **** do you think you are? a star?**
You're no constellation
You expel no illumination
Your personality is a narrow cultivation of
Seedy corporation,
Media publication,
And lack of moral stabilization
Let me give you clarification
Meditation is my detonation
Put words in your mouth before you die of starvation
We all have a fixation on giving into temptation
Putting ourselves in situations were
Passion is stimulation,
Trust is manipulation and
Love is ***********
Pour out your heartache in perspiration
After *********** we expect a standing ovation
*** is nothing more than sensation*
....are we lost beyond the point of navigation?
Nov 28, 2011
Nov 28, 2011 at 12:35 AM UTC
— for the American Mustang
Strung up on one leg, bled dry while alive,
unloaded off trailers crammed full
of the crippled and blind —mares
giving birth on three legs, foals trampled
by stallions, and a wave of fear
hovering over tossing manes
like the sea after Moby **** surfaced
for the first time. Last year,
135,000 horses died —
rounded up in hundreds and sent
off to slaughter like feeder goldfish,
three stops from Canada
or Cabo, displaced from plains
once revered for their livelihood.
In 1969, Vonnegut
wrote, “And so it goes…”
In 2061, our children will ask about the wild
horses who used to live in their backyards
as they catch the last fireflies and bottle
them up in jars, flickering and dying
like tired bulbs giving up on electricity —
2015 sees Henderson, Nevada grasses paying tribute
to power-plant-lines and a suburb built
on Tralfamadore fiction: house-mounds
and picket fences caging domesticated dogs,
curb-lined streets and caution signs, billboard
warnings of humanity’s fixation with progression,
combined like coffee with an overabundance
of half-and-half and too much sugar — only 99 cents
at Dunkin down a little ways, and home
to the dreamers who forget the word freedom.
Apr 27, 2015
Apr 27, 2015 at 4:05 PM UTC