"glandular" poems
Come to me.
your inscribed
slashes of verse
branded upon
the juice of
my tongue
a specter
of the ultimate gift
as we allow
the magic
to rise
and peel off in
swathed, aching
layers,
undone
Each stratum of
dermis shed
is a prayer for
our succulent
redemption
Each shadow of
silky cuttlefish caress
a plea for sanctity
or perhaps simply
being loved
into a frenzy
of sanity
healing in waves
of electric eyes
You open me
like a holy book
and I am suddenly
filled with light
as you unlock
the blessings
from my spinal fluid
and I am a priestess
on her altar
arms raised,
love braised
into slick-lit wonder
a spiral cone rising from
ground to crown
chakric palette pulsating
phosphorescent ripples
on deep-sea creatures
Your ubiety
slakes my naked,
somatic anatomy
a mere shelter
for our souls
a working
of muscle and skin
with heart strings pumping
the essence within
Our brainwaves
sizzle in
glandular fire
as pheromones
envelope us
like incense
This goes far beyond the
wet cuntflush of desire
beyond the embellishment
of moistened sword
It is the sacred dance
of souls that merge
before even touching
pre-verbal animal
first light of mankind
in ancient swells
of earth that
rise like sparks
the constellations
of firework chimes
in arcs of
chiseled
dark
Jun 7, 2017
Jun 7, 2017 at 7:26 PM UTC
There was a snail (named Dale)
with a very long tail
who ventured off into the world.
He said to himself
(Dale the snail)
I'd love to meet a bootiful goil.
So in a flash from space,
with mucus running down her face,
came an alien creature called Joan,
She saw a silver line
(it was a snail trail)
and followed it to see where it goes.
And far in ...the distance
she saw in an instance
at the end of the snail trail sparkling in the sun-
A slimy and sweet
creature she'd love to meet
with a shell on his back for a home.
She said:"I do declare,
you look dashing and fair"
as bubbles oozed from her eyes.
Dale just blushed,
as his face lit up,
and said: "aw you're just saying that you sassy young blob of an alien gawjus sweet thing with no hair :)"
She looked at this tiny dream of a slobber,
he was in awe at her globber.
But their hearts sank at their difference in size.
She was glandular large
like a bright yellow barge
and he was as small as a splarge.
A stick insect saw -
the tragedy of it all
and came up with a very cunning plan.
He knew a wizard once
who ate snails for lunch,
they could trick him to changing her small...
As he told them the tale,
their faces went pale
but their love was too strong for the fear.
So they slithered and shlozzered
to Joan's flying saucer
to find the castle of Wizzy the ****
The wizard was waiting
with his eyes full of hating
and a knife and a fork in each hand.
There was garlic and salt
that he took from his vault
and he drooled on his beard as he sang:
"Alien Shpeegle
with shnails in shmeegle,
a delightful shurprishe for a man!
Groggy my groach
with shome shlime on my toasht"
and he pranced and danced with his band.
The spacecraft landed,
unexpectant of ambush,
the couple wanderd on in.
Wizzy swung from a rafter
and trapped Dale in a corner,
and said: "My you'll go well with my Shtew!"
Joan got mad
and rolled on to her lad
and ****** the wizard into her goo.
She suddenly felt all tingly
as she turned into a twinky,
there was nothing more she could do.
The Wizard escaped
and poor Dale met his fate,
and was smeared on the twinky sliced in two.
Wizzy gobbled them up
with some glee in his cup,
and then succumbed to food poisoning goo.
So it seemed that it ended
on that dark cold September,
for the lovers who's loving was doomed...
But on a planet far away
at the early break of day
two souls bubbled in primordial stew.
An amoeba named Dale
and an amoeba named Joan
were floating in bubbles of gas,
So deep the attraction
-the magnetized action,
they could now be together at last.
Dec 11, 2010
Dec 11, 2010 at 1:38 AM UTC
Dish on it gwib
**** on my bib
From the bib dribbled a slibular fib
A glandular ****
A rugged soghard
A pish-po-dish get it wet
Pish po dib, gwib, flib
flippy pippy whip slick
The tick slipped wicked from the slippy drib
Michael Jordan basketball
New Kix,
Box of
Got it three-ninety-nine in the aisle
Put it on the box of it did it
Why didn't I do it?
Did it.
Sock hard the block guard
The twiss'ed grits
Aug 25, 2011
Aug 25, 2011 at 8:37 PM UTC
Shadows
and warm hearts.
Evening whispers
in gentle staccato;
breaking silence
Lips upon lips
enchanted warmth; rushing of lust.
Further entrenchment with
entwining flesh upon flesh.
Our heated breathing;
the nirvana of sweetened glandular
Aphordite's love-perfume.
My heat against your heat,
climaxing into passion's hard embrace.
Embraced by Dionysus into
life-death-death-life dance.
We soul-swim in warm waters...
RW Dennen (c) 11/24/09
Aug 26, 2014
Aug 26, 2014 at 1:20 AM UTC
Is it ever going to go away
It starts on the inside
the one that no one asks to stay
the slide I fight but still contrive
Start at zero, rise then fall
the ground keeps rising so I'll stand tall
Compulsion built by the ego's indulgence
divulging wilt's the universe's repulsion
Subconscious whims to recognize
the prime elect to analyze
Creature's time spent on watching themselves
while truth like an old toy sits upon the shelf
Define dignity by humanity's degradation
the willingness of every nation
Nuclear unanimity, will never start from the surface or the boundaries beyond
It comes from the origin within a navel energetic pond
The mind collects, stores in the belly, transforms in the heart, then comes glandular manifestation
The armistice of enmity and the achievement of a fool's paradise through all generations
What kind of light will you freeze?
What temple will you create?
Or will it all be your temple
Will you bring the stagnation of light or keep our existence in flux?
Nov 18, 2015
Nov 18, 2015 at 1:35 PM UTC
Life is a series of demands. Hurry up, perform.
Do your homework, write a paper, oh and read 300 pages,
get in those volunteer hours, grab those lab credentials.
I get busy, caught up in projects and I forget stuff
like dinnertime, peeing before it’s an emergency,
or like calling you - last night.
On vacation I’m unplugged, I’m avoiding focus,
I’m not paying attention, my mind’s wandering.
I’d want you less if it were required by law.
I imagine your huge, brown saucer eyes
exhibiting a wounded, blaming expression and I can’t.
Maybe there’s a biological explanation, yes, that’s it,
I’m missing an enzyme, I have a glandular disorder
that prevents long distance relationships from working.
No, not work - It can’t be work - it should be exciting.
Is it a crime to want some time off from pressure?
I’m not asking for a pony.
Just a sabbatical couple of weeks away from obligations.
I felt so guilty that I went to Karen (Lisa’s mom) about it.
We talked for over an hour, she’s so smart, I love her.
She reminded me about the recent lockdowns
and how years of skyping and remote learning
might affect (dull-down) a long distance romance.
I told her what you said, about my sinatra psyche
and she said although I seem absurdly secure,
I’m probably still figuring things out - and that’s ok.
There’s really no substitute for talking to a mom.
I called you - and left a message - I hope you understand.
I turned my phone off - for now.
Dec 29, 2022
Dec 29, 2022 at 7:15 AM UTC
Charles ate a Rocky Mountain
oyster shell from the spleuchen
of a bee resting on a bed plate,
but then fell asleep.
Glandular curvulas search for
the meaning of life;
to **** and be ****** by the nerve centre.
Clooties of the Yellowstone national park
make regretful decisions, that lead to excessive
crying, and dry/wet heaving for
MTV'S SPRING BREAK BLAST:
The ending is on pp.22 featuring beam rays
telltale sign of stirless beaches and nights irritating
my irritatory sun causing me
to
fumble
from the letter shape of my family tree.
Quintessentially, but not really, reptilians smiled
to eat sour investment of telltale
signs of testicular cancer,
while sending SMS messages to
acquaintances blabbering
"Come over and watch a movie ;)"
and gloating of recently acquired masseuse skills.
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 3:27 AM UTC
i swam in a sea of glandular secretions
the music was already playing
you were like a kite in the wind
and you let the ocean take you
I said, please keep a clear head
you said, that could take a lifetime
while i recited the verses of my soul
you said that you were really sorry
and that we both already knew
that belief could be a fire
that sometimes burns its own
Apr 17, 2018
Apr 17, 2018 at 1:50 PM UTC
O. Pool raw island or line vineyards
action stripping the shifts in throat lobes
co operative fraction guillotine manual or
glandular matchstick subtracting certain
matching breeds already beneath accidental
mathematics in estrus clothed by fractions
II
Aural syringe laughing lineage captured
glass cultures Where I feel revered by newborn
lands of guilded dementia children from vapor
quartering off portions of soft cornered rockets
off soft dabs of round cornered minaret orders
I fire the buoyant mind with fractioned black butter
III
The hum of fans
the gunboats dealing broadsides
raw meat and bound feet
moon is withered grape
flys gnaw thru our cellophane
intent to devour our brain
The mythical hiss of salted throats
dissolving like fermented aphids
milk amidst the purr of confused
****** onlookers
The Princess of our burlesque
appears with her sun red triplets
Three clairvoyants asleep in their
eggshell bed each with three eyes
one just within the foreheads
Feb 9, 2014
Feb 9, 2014 at 3:32 AM UTC
to the colouring book
and the maddening imagination
the insistence of the scribes
and the glandular power of our missions
of the dome and the species
the turn of the trickster
and the business being
within our clan
in our hand
in the span of our grind
a product of our natters
is there shared scheme in mind ?
- an inhabiter
Feb 21, 2019
Feb 21, 2019 at 11:28 PM UTC
It's genetics,
and it's
environment.
It's meningitis, glandular fever
and the novel coronavirus.
It's bad habits catching up
with me.
It's poison dust and GM foods
and leaded petrol.
It's stress-induced.
It's karmic irony.
It's my sense of foreshortened future
made manifest.
It's a new way of self-harming
on a cellular level.
It's punishment from a god
I don't believe in.
It's the universe replying it
doesn't care.
It's
dumb
*******
luck.
There's a million different
(equally plausible, equally irrelevant)
reasons.
None of them change anything.
Aug 1, 2021
Aug 1, 2021 at 5:50 AM UTC
A novel situation, for a story to live for or in
ever,
forever and inever are aspects of ever never
actually
thought through.
Ever being as ever was, now,
all together
This is where it gets crazy…
cut to the chase, and nobody is chasing…
Do you truly believe there is a lie so big that
no one can ever unbelieve it
alone?
Do ya, hunh, do ya? Wanna bet?
Could get hairy,
could get… you know
***** humus- dirt us,
we a we here. All the outs been let in free,
we got shelter
from our storm.
Yeh. L'il Abner, cloud, no, "Big Chief Rain-in-the-face"
wasn't that funny,
back when they had the Shakespeare Riots, first
but not last,
time Feds fired on citizens pledged to allegiance,
in states of
professionally tested rebellion,
to keep the meek assured their inheritance is safe,
until the end,
when nobody is sure what to expect.
So, we lower your interest rate on entertainment.
Attention spans as short as fifteen seconds, with
seven seconds eye on target verified,
by snapsnapsnap monoclapping app-lause trigger…
those seven seconds are treasure,
lemme tell y'gotta listen,
we ain't got long,
AI AI AI its all artistic intuition absolutely insane,
in that good Steve Jobs insane way,
insanely great, the feeling
you get when you stand in the tenth floor comode
and flush it, swoosh, swirl caresses
flow between
your rusting toes,
in your mind, only in your mind, your industrial
disneyfied mind, crossed with an imagined
Turing machine, with a Von Neuman perpetuating
glandular mod on the cannabinoid system,
plus acid. Seedtime, harvest or
seed
time
harvest round and round for a few loops,
leaning into the plane
of existence,
to be with you, for your reading pleasure,
we offer fully flexible
futures, one day at a time,
no Westworld AI wu wu - we way cooler than allathat
Vitamin D, 2-d, thathathat is you to me, you are
my sunshine,
lemme see y'shine.
Jul 23, 2020
Jul 23, 2020 at 7:00 PM UTC
How do you miss,
a thing that wasn't yours,
was never real,
a figment,
an imaginary voice,
silenced?
I wander these corridors,
aimless,
turning doorknobs,
searching rooms,
listening for hallowed sounds,
in the silence.
The din of the empty ******
consumes this place.
It is a mausoleum for the un-souled,
the living eaters of humanity.
Gone is the irreverent knife,
that sliced through the miasma,
Gone is its weilder,
the cocksure warrior I walked beside,
A mirage corrected,
A trick of the vapor.
This fun house hallway,
deceives me at every turn,
It's reflections,
a lurid parade of illusions,
and delusions.
I miss you,
my obstinate anti-hero,
invented angel.
Your signature,
was glandular,
a ripe pheromone.
It clings to my nostrils,
my lizard brain,
and deeper things...
Your signature was deliverance.
From the noise,
the pervasive idiocy,
from domestic terrorism,
and the oppresion of monotony,
From myself.
I wander these corridors,
restless,
casing the interior,
Enduring the terrible sideshow,
the clamour,
and the odor,
the seedy film it lays.
I am stalwart,
hopeful,
frenzied.
I am jonesing for that chemical release,
for another dose of ones and zeros,
the hit that makes it real,
the hit that brings it home.
Nov 14, 2017
Nov 14, 2017 at 10:25 AM UTC