"ingestion" poems
.
6mg Fat
11mg Carbs
150 mg Protein
7% of US RDA
Potassium and
3% US RDA
zinc and cop
per. It is both
Pre ven tative
and fights can
cer. Particular
ly. breast can
cer. Only 20 calories .
per serving! ingestion of
seminal pla sma is
called ***** ophagia
Oct 10, 2014
Oct 10, 2014 at 12:33 PM UTC
It started with a thought -
a solitary lie.
Cunning in it's deceit,
no freedom, lest I die.
No normal pangs of hunger -
gorging beast within my face.
Heaving it up in sacrificial abjure,
a rejected fall from grace.
An act of complete surrender -
heavy pressure in my chest.
The beat continues beating;
Yet I fear it will arrest.
Mirrors turned to enemies;
A smile turned to grief.
A day without ingestion
becomes a dangerously sweet relief.
Abandoning dreams to disappear -
affliction taking hold.
Imperfection sought to fix, with
restricted weight controlled.
It started with a thought -
a solitary lie.
Cunning in it's deceit,
no freedom, lest I die.
Apr 23, 2021
Apr 23, 2021 at 1:15 AM UTC
here we are
our ingestion to stop time
you and i
beaming for me
your gaze of comfort calms us to shore
to be safe
to be beautiful like you
captivating me with your purity
flawless rays of effervescent emotions
shine and bestow blessings for us
that are oh so holy
fated i am to explore your ocean
lost was i without your smile
doomed without your touch
you burned a hole in my heart
where you now live
inside of me
like the sigh of release
with me entering your soul
your pleasure is my desire
i dont want you like the boys before me
Apr 5, 2021
Apr 5, 2021 at 4:20 PM UTC
i miss your lips
the way they'd smoothly dance
like a genie in a lamp
as you'd sing
and speak
how sweet your memory tastes
though the reality has long since faded
i cling to my effervescent exaggerations of our tangled past
replaying time to time
on the dream-screen of my mind
as i snack lightly on the salty remarks of my youth
and i laugh
it hurts
but it feels so healthy
you fade through the moon-mist
and dismiss your own existence
once again proclaiming that you are nothing
but an extension of it all
a fingerprint of the wilky-way
just a strand of DNA
swimming through the wake of infinite expansion
i miss it
the beer-breath incantions you'd softly slur after dark
the kisses you'd plant along my edges
like the vines that trace the hedges
in the front lawn of that dusty place we'd fake our love
nostalgia always begins so inviting
untill you're finally feeling sea-sick
from the over-ingestion of false sweets
and pure imagination
now we're so far gone
living in a different reality entirely
i don't think i'd even know your face if i saw it
i know you only by the way your shape fits in the frame
another handsome man
trapped forever in the reels of film of my mind
but i'll remember you
you're woven into the wood works
drunkenly dancing through a serendipitous sea of names
stands the lamen's term for your current shape
your birth-given name
credited with a handfull of scars
left behind by a man who forced me to grow
Mar 5, 2013
Mar 5, 2013 at 11:31 AM UTC
Is this a power hierarchy?
Does our dueling footwork
Convince us to
Lock into some sort of
Competitive symmetry,
Twisting into your
Mashed potato minefield with
Doo *** , doo dad laden
Dancing shoes?
Gimme your
Electronic sympathy, baby,
Infiltrate the airwaves with
Piercing eye contact and
Tremourous finger tip brushes.
Is my informality coming through?
Have I communicated with
Unlocked elbows and
Megaphone ears that not only
My body but universe
Lives here and in you?
Orient yourself to me,
I task while asking you to
Take off your straight jacket and
Stay a while. Unlock your
Pandora 's box so your
Monsters can meet mine,
Mirrored in different shades of
Shock and shame, operating under
Varied hues of the same name.
Lean into me, let your
Shoulders slender and shimmy to a
Tenderizing touch, the
Objects under your skin collapsing
To the 4/4 timed battle
Between form and perception.
The ingestion of the
Metaphor is the message, and
The tongue regards a tune
Differently than a taste.
Face symmetrical, nostrils work,
The blooming waste of consumption
Centered on the top right corner of
Your cheekbones.
I can't help but grab the
Slight upswing in the tone
Of your voice and spin it around;
Let's swing, darling.
I'd like to take your descriptors
On a date to the dance floor.
How long can we keep this up until meaning has waltzed out the door?
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 1:19 PM UTC
over the phone you might think me
a kindhearted metro-sexual with a deep voice
that lilts and appropriately pitches
to accommodate your ear
and manipulate your conception of me
so that you wont put a frowney face
nested in the message that im leaving
for someone else
above any "i" that might appear
but this vocal spirit only disguises
the less-than-cheeerful demeanor
with which i walk around
when i deftly cut of all communication
with the people that need me to be
something that makes them feel better
not only about my person
but humanity as a whole too
i have a
love hate relationship with phone voice
it often feels like im acting
i wrote and approved a script
where a melancholy person pretends
to be the most pleasant thing
that you have ever known
"yes, HULLLOOO! im looking to leave a message for
....[puke in mouth] heather"
and when that dreadful experience
wains and vanishes
i light another cigarette
slam down a shot glass
and growl
ghrryeeeeaaaaah
me again
***** with tobacco stained fingers
happy [through ingestion]
but still not that person
never phone voice happy
May 3, 2013
May 3, 2013 at 12:43 PM UTC
The monkey on my back is just a cigarette under the crack
Where your fingertips can not, anymore, the nicotine pursue...
A stain in my Egyptians, the painful intermissions
And nevertheless a violent ingestion, the cavalry consumed.
Dogs don't eat dogs unless they're the runts of the group,
And when they come out crooked, the casualties ensue.
Ribs on my shoulders, eyes in my aorta
And just as I guessed, from out of my chest, a ghost not unlike you.
Ive been here 666 years and the irony is insane
The only voices Ive had in my head were dripping off the brain
A zombie could knock down a wall or take 3 in the chest
But a dog with the head of a worm is quicker than the rest.
Uninvited your spine comes crashing into my field of view
Negatives of your face fading into non-photo blue
The tree canopy becomes a face that looks a bit like yours
But when it blinks my heart sinks, and you walk out the door.
Signals running every which way! Scream me, baby! Do it!
Lose my caller I.D. witch ***** slow
Drag
Drug
Love.
Eat it all under a vacuum heart and say the words!
Gooba gabba gooba gabba! We accept you, one of us!
Shoreline, waistline, eyeliner, center divider
Crash into the sea and settle underneath!
The bubbles quit rising! A man is inside!
He looks like your and my hatechild!
You wanted art!! Ill give you art!
As soon as my head stops circling around.
One of us!
Feb 17, 2011
Feb 17, 2011 at 7:00 PM UTC
Great fades to gray
where commonplace turns to decay
where the abnormal becomes negatively neurological
which leads to the ingestion of government sector sedatives
and we wonder why segregation of brain and mind is prominent
promises never kept and mind that never gets better
but before we fix the broken we must make you broke.
Objects in the mirror to fit society's standards
E news, TMZ, fox- all the new cancer.
Throw your money at it
make it go away
and watch in awe as the auction of your autonomy accelerates-
your mind is money to the highest bidder
and they don't budge when they watch your wallet quiver.
Quiet in the courtroom-
little Kyle's got a drug charge
searched his car without consent
convict at the age of sixteen
which is sickening to see.
Kyle was just depressed and needed a little THC
the only thing that would help him with social anxiety
and now he's facing a charge for not taking the meds
marijuana manipulation of the municipals
and now little kyle won't be able to go to a good school
18 the record will be swiped clean
but the debt of the courtroom creeps into his credit.
Society's white lies will tell you you'll be fine
debt from the courtroom turn to slanging dope-
dealing with depression while dealing in possession
pulled over, twice moreover propaganda's progression.
They feed us the same lies we go out of our way to buy-
news channels, channeling bias views for more views
sitting idly by as our lives pass through
changing channels as we become the chattel
slaves to our own brain waves from the manipulation
we love to bow down to this free nation
led by puppets- controlled by intimidation tactics.
It's just backwards, the backbone of the nation doesn't have one
Columbine happened because little Kyle could get a gun, run-
repeat until it's done, dictating your discrimination
it's fun until everyone has to run away from the shooter.
Bangs heard throughout the world
talk of how his head was on backwards smoking on these backwoods
But he was off the marijuana and on the medicine-
FDA approved turned into a bullet to the head.
BANG.
Sinister structure of society-
**** america why did you have to lie to me.
Jul 14, 2015
Jul 14, 2015 at 10:32 AM UTC
Beams shoot, pierce, being.
Cross light, torch, hydrogen star seams.
The universe fabric'd slightly, by photon lattices,
Making salad, for ingestion purposes, of lettuces
Energy. Chlorophyll. Gathering.
Spectral blue/red (465 nm/665 nm) Smattering.
Frankenstein piece of art worn leather.
Earth is stitched lava, magma sewn together.
Forming the lawn face of all reality.
Reality is suburbia to the string.
Mar 27, 2013
Mar 27, 2013 at 11:47 AM UTC
Ingredients
My fingers skate along the sleek surface if the finished cedar box , although it has been varnished it still somehow finds a way to harness a whiff if the scent to push in my direction every time I open it . Recipes , basically a conjugation of ingredients , when melded together in perfect amounts , create a complete meal, my recipes , amassed from a lifetime of existence , instances collected individually , and blended on to the parchment that is now being filed amidst the rest of the nourishing collections within this wooden encasement , I have organized them based on feelings, " moods " the perfect ingestion , for any experience , it is well acknowledged that often we find our way to someone's heart with the perfect recipes , food for the soul , but this is my collection of food for the heart, this box contains a life's worth of poetry , little daily doses of not soul food , but food for the soul , little inspirational quotes and quills , for any emotion that may full our belly with that hallo feeling that comes with chaos , our emotional nourishment , which is why you will never find this treasure in the pantry with the rest of the " cook books" for this has a place on the corner of the nightstand , along with the rest of my hopes and dreams .........
Oct 13, 2014
Oct 13, 2014 at 9:44 AM UTC
To intense to endure this mentality,
The human condition was not meant for this kind of pestilence, ,
This kind of using,
When the ingestion leaves you mentally cringing,
I was consuming for the feelings of escaping thieves,
To vicariously experience something just as devious,
As I put my faith in capsule cradled dependencies,
******* it’s so hard to type with keys that keep falling from my reach”
May I experience such a moment of going beyond what only my sobriety may perceive,
For only an instance before I go back to the way things use to be,
Please,
Am I a pioneer or a deviant, an explorer or a ******
Pupils suspended like flying saucers, smearing across a starry sky,
The eyes that exemplify my concocted climb,
The sights that remind me I’m destined to decline,
But not before a few more twists and turns along this mentally mutilated ride,
******* Jen can you come soon so we socialize before I’m institutionalized”
I didn’t know I’d be hindered by the human condition,
I didn’t want to be alone,
Thinking I’d be mentally prepared and not physically impaired,
Ever after it’s end, I am still unable to comprehend, something made by man,
Bringing me close enough to consider, the divinity of the whitest doves and the blood of lamb,
Like a pagan explanation to why we act this way,
This ingestion had left me somewhat insane,
Afraid of what others can create in this century,
So I pray that you will heed what I have to say,
So I hope you stay away from something that may leave you a casket-case
Because there isn’t anyway to save us all from seeking to flee this reality,
And momentarily forgot about the ugliness of our actual identities.
Apr 29, 2012
Apr 29, 2012 at 11:16 PM UTC
I am a poet
And my world is my own
No ingestion of substance can compare
I am a poet
My senses I hone
How else can I color them to share
I am a poet
My pain is my pride
My wounds bleed raw on a page
I am a poet
My hope burns alive
Experiences transform me to a sage
I am a poet
I overflow with love
I accept all for who and what they are
I am a poet
Who needs not a shove
To weave a story in whimsy from afar
I am a poet
My passion rules the mind
However logical I pretend to be
I am a poet
I coax the words in kind
Filled with feelings only memory can see
I am a poet
I see the verse as yet untold
I bathe pages from the beauty of a look
I am a poet
My pen leads to my soul
There is intrigue in every shadowed nook
I am a poet
Mar 16, 2014
Mar 16, 2014 at 1:28 AM UTC
I – the girl you observe
guilty pleasure
marching through molten black
torch ignited
orbiting phantasms in the aphotic
burning within
corruption incinerated upon ingestion
tucked behind your frame
nestling ear
lip grazing canal
zest to soliloquy
vivacious saccharine tone
ruminating in the lilt of your tongue
resting in gum scoop and jawbone (mandible) reserve
adroit pivot
humbled gaze
locked
exteroception engaged
hard swallow
pearls scooped catatonic
atop lingering breast ascension
prudent olfaction volatile
cribriform annihilation
ginger – basil - brine - ruminate
etch of lace
sailplaning flesh topographic
aureate sunlight cresting soma
intoned morning – essence of miasma
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 8:45 PM UTC
happened upon an extravaganza of spring’s hallmark,
the cherry blossoms outing their munificence of color,
I happened to position myself direct below a tree,
the thicket
of blossoms so, well, thick, that sky was obliterated ‘cept
for pointillistic spots of blue sun, yellow sky that poked
through the
few de minimus interstitial spaces permitted, and was
struck silent, by-for-before shimmering eyes that uttered the
requisite oohs and ahhs,
and
words came to me weeks later,
when the memory, now fully decanted,
reappears
courtesy of a giant tech company’s code tinkering,
merging and splurging the combined images in the
photographic memory
of my devices,
as if to say:
your life is
points of light and color and scent
as you write now
amidst the hubbub of jackhammers, raucous horns a blaring,
the homeless screaming on the street at god,
the fatalistic headlines of hate and
the pallor of a low level haze of perp~gray
between you and your true elfin self,
and you are not surprised,
but sadly, but not entirely,
bemused
that the photo’s true utility was to
remind weeks later
that all that my eyes utter
is not just
woe, double trouble and toil, toil,
*but to Hey Jude and George,
step out and see the park on a Sunday
in its entirety and to glory in
your being
by being
a point in that tapestry spectacular
of ingestion, digestion and final comprehension and
a happy*
exhalation
May 10, 2024
May 10, 2024 at 8:06 AM UTC
Bring together.
Tear apart.
(SIMULTANEITY)
Command or be carried,
be free or be ferried,
believe or be bleary,
wear on or be weary.
The bedpan of old age,
the deadpan of expression--
at the end
before beyond,
inward evacuation
/
outward ingestion,
a life lived to die--
but life exists, after all.
The "pan" of Pangaea,
the pan of a camera--
at the start
before tectonic cataclysm,
localized catastrophe
/
universal symphony,
indifference until perception--
but perception exists, after all.
Either
/
Or:
equal opponents at one moment
until chosen.
It could be said no dimension is parallel.
-LP
Nov 26, 2013
Nov 26, 2013 at 10:04 PM UTC
Chronic disinterest
Native contempt
Velvet endeavors
Tempting regret
Instant retelling
Elephant’s hide
Plagiarized doctrine
Burning inside
Mystified longing
Questions abound
Domicile ******
Running aground
Substance ingestion
Alternate mind
Daily addiction
Hade’s defined
Jun 24, 2011
Jun 24, 2011 at 7:54 PM UTC
Fumbling fingers yearning for connection,
Reach out through negative space,
Crash headlong into rejection.
Curl back in defeat,
Clenched fist to deflect,
Fiery agony of regret.
An empty, disparaging inflection
Cut from a hot pink tongue, flapping
Dispassionately disproves theory of interconnection,
Maybe myth, fable, love story --
Or maybe lack of detection,
From calloused palms,
Roughened with each ingestion
Of honey suckle poison.
Was this the original intention?
Or did the son choose to elect
Another hidden path, indirect.
This haze manifests crystalized predictions,
Of hands meeting thighs, meeting hips,
Pushing forward climactic introspection,
Or just another muddled reflection,
Of my endless projections,
Always failing tests of retention,
Mind permanently trapped in suspension,
Of spiraling tension.
Sep 1, 2014
Sep 1, 2014 at 8:06 PM UTC
Strapped to a metal pedestal settled suspense,
Immensity measured and tethered by lust,
Must we divide and conquer inside; no longer a function of life,
A junction of strife in cities hidden from light,
Bid me goodnight, and rid me of this hideous sight,
Morals, the core of oppression, ingestion of thought,
Caught what was thought to be biologically right,
In spite of the might of indifference, this hindrance of soulful construction,
Social abduction, post-spoken eruption,
Advocating the case of natural basis of bonds,
Longing to wrong the call of the wild, all but a child,
Meanwhile, the style of trend takes a turn, bend break and burn,
Churning up thoughts from a mind at peace,
Find the beast and follow the least traversable way to converse.
False analogy calls imaginary lies,
Breaking the ties, hating the cries,
Tracing her eyes, creating these marked and darkened black skies.
Jul 24, 2010
Jul 24, 2010 at 7:49 AM UTC
Change my blood into gold
Elixer of life
A toked up martyr
I must be philosopher ******
to be
so magical I transform change
the same I re-arrange
invert thought bubbles to elipse to make a circle out of cyst
Wand and Air
like pen and paper
convert the blank page to the strange
till the shoobies get ****** at the deviant sage
Hidden , covered by enigma...
Sometimes I write so hard I might just
Rip ya like paper
the message of saviors,
so heavy it topples the rules
like when the they drop bass in a rave yah
but treble not in ear sight,
As it breaks the music can also protect
what an insight.
Quarel with myself a couple times
like Quicksilver and sulfur
*Purification
dissolution
death
and ressurection
dissolve and let loose
the fatal connections*
Become alchemist like a potter and turn the clay to a vessel
IGNITE THE SPIRIT LEVEL
OVERCOME THE STRESSFUL
Apr 27, 2016
Apr 27, 2016 at 12:21 PM UTC
There is an originating plum
with tasty flesh, that teeth can't bare to hide,
all are cut in sections,
neatly assembled
ready for the scrum.
Set out on ingestion,
each thought kicked around,
they go in formation,
massive bodies closely bound.
There will be no agreement,
on bitter sweet,
there will only be the score,
we lost, we won,
we loved
the fight!
Tasty is the plum,
as it passed around...
http://www.robross.ca
May 25, 2010
May 25, 2010 at 11:04 PM UTC
These butterfly wings
Just cut through my gut,
And I'm left a fuckin' schmuck
Tripping over my tongue
And large intestine-
Like a hesitant ***
Stumbling through disgust
With a slow ingestion of fear.
Quiet the thunder in my ears
Place judging eyes here,
As I shake my paper cup
Fill 'er up, but not too much;
Just enough to feel human.
Cleanse your aching skin,
pay for my sticky sins
And addictions.
I crave to feel your touch
But once our nerve endings brush,
You'll wipe the dirt off and sanitize my love
But keep that point one percentage.
I'll let my own grow with a mother's gestation.
I find comfort in your aged hatred
So I'll build us up, then break it
'Til I'm left lying naked
Next to gritty dust,
To scrub into my wounds
When they open to the sun
Freshly bloomed, memories
That cut my heart so deep;
I'm drowning in my blood,
Pop another lung
As I descend into blackness.
Nothing.
No one.
Gone.
-SLuR
Jul 12, 2017
Jul 12, 2017 at 12:33 AM UTC
another night’s ocean liner passage, now
sunrise bookmarked, by prayer hailed,
when wet cheeks express emotional
humanity and a tissue better be handy
too many times this is how the day
greets me, and I, it, wetted and vetted
to have made it as far as one more,
having lived you in me, me in you,
an exchange of tonguing word
kisses,
that break me into pieces of
consolations
it’s embarrassing an elder man
weeps for no reason other than
words have swept him overboard,
crazy love this fascinating addiction
to a new morning’s addition composition
incision on a plain soul indistinguishable
amidst the mist of millions of others
who rise up beside, aside, reside within
and his breached heart, even strangers,
complete the neuronal connection
that demands his years of years upon
awaking to the grinning fawning dawn
mooning him with pure white light that
wrecks him open, rents his disposition,
an inquisition of words intrusively intruding
causing wept tears fully formed energizing
emerging, songs of words that you give
him as a question to be loved, for finding
the answers multiple is a penultimate thrill,
confirming this wetness that he lives to
be loved, give love, and breaks h a p p i l y
into pieces of/if contented peace
and thus summed, the day’s obligations
seem less daunting, and with some
luck and bulk coffee ingestion, there
will be solutions to anything
and then
he types,
**and this one,
done!**
<>
6:49am
march 2 Sun Day
two zero two 5
Mar 11, 2025
Mar 11, 2025 at 2:31 PM UTC
attendance
fumbling my entrance array
passionately late i pull off my tie
and crashing here without apology
all-ready a crowd sweated room
low ceiling candy glass munching underfoot
the senses are rushed upon fuming
lit up and strobing with the chaotic humour
and tumorous smells
furious ingestion
swellings and releases
pelling and girling with the dances
hectic music making hero's of uz all
a steaming sot lady lands before me laughing
she climbs me till her bare feet find ground
naked from the waist up
her dress has fallen into a trampled magpie tail
doughy features unfocused
my heart is gurning with ruckus
installed with an addicts engine
it caves and puffs for attention
these are my people
these are my people
now that they're reached their peak
of ******* inebriation
and raving chorus
i am drawn imediate into the density
Feb 24, 2022
Feb 24, 2022 at 11:43 AM UTC
taking government loans, parental guidelines
and flashy dress-skirts made this life unfact
and unfiction. Lost in the disabled returns on
tax dividends, the world kept calling your name.
“Rise up and be born with me, brother” Pablo
Neruda inclined-- *“Give me your hand from the deep
Zone seeded by your sorrow.”* it all it all it all ached,
an abyss of patience with nothing-- a droplet of sidelined
coffee given sentience with ingestion-- all the banal all
the mundane all the flowing rock-face moments so
presented by society-- in my heart of hearts, in my mind
of minds, in my eye of eyes, in my neck of necks, I found pain....
the ache of achey betrayal and the ache of achey loss. In this
pain we find repreive from Pollyanna-- reprieve from the false
Gods of Evil, the Devil Within your Ex-Girlfriend-- the reason
she let his ******** inside. Through all the latency-- through
starving streetless sleepless evenings-turned-to-nights I could
see death within the sliver of a flashlight beam.. telling me to
take the life or leave the life but never in-between-- telling me
the pain was part and parcel to the ecstasy of faith and resurrection--
screaming “FLATLINED IF YOU WANT, FASTLINED IN YOU
WANT, SIDELINED IF YOU WANT, STREETLIGHT IF YOU
WANT” and throughout this evil and this darkness and this nothing
-but-a-flashlight-beam, I hear Neruda--
“Rise up and be born with me, brother.”
Sep 5, 2014
Sep 5, 2014 at 6:40 PM UTC