"insatiability" poems
n. A homesickness for somewhere you cannot return to, the nostalgia and grief for the lost places of your past, places that never were.
insatiability makes its burrow
in my gall bladder,
wringing bile from the *****
craving toxins to purge.
i thirst for sweet lexical gaps,
holes in patterns,
dots that don't make shapes
but still gladly connect
komorebi
n. The sunlight that filters through the leaves of the trees
loveliest in the distinction
it is only komorebi
once filtered, green soul
bleeding through
May 27, 2015
May 27, 2015 at 4:58 PM UTC
the tangibility of fallibility
is met between the coincidence
and insatiability of adversity,
the blissfulness of satisfaction
is met between the constant refraction
and abstraction of our instability,
distancing perceptions bound by
our misinterpreted misconceptions ,
take the contradictions of our minds
and use them as receipted expectations,
blinded by darkness for illumination
idyllically thriving on the absence of starvation
but the the realism of disdained relation put us
in a position of contempt fixation,
placement of a pedestal beneath my feet
misdirected direction towards a forked defeat,
a way to pain and a way to pleasure,
the destination of each concluded at cloudy weather,
atmospheric conditions leave injunctions towards
the ****** functions to deviate and meditate
the conflicted constant of mind and heart
and diverge from its obliged obligation from the start,
a denouncement expected right from inception
brought afloat a constant instance of introspection,
intrinsic emotions distorted at a love’s devotion
sparks a metaphysical claim towards a complex notion
of companionship and intensified intimacy;
an expectant of reciprocated sympathy
but when in reality, the thought of apathy
lies not within the partner,
but within me
Sep 21, 2015
Sep 21, 2015 at 8:56 PM UTC
"I don't want to make it awkward or anything,
but I had a *** dream about us last night.
Don't get me wrong:
there was more to it than that-
we were having a long and involved conversation
about many potential meanings of Life
and the joys of pursuing One's own creative spirit
as well as some discussion
as to the seemingly cyclic nature of Time
and the absolute relativity
of Consciousness and Reality.
See, it was after that
(and perhaps some red wine)
that we yoked ourselves
in the heat of unspoken passion
and accidentally set the room aglow
with sparks of fervid insatiability
until the Moon took a cue from our dance and song
and slowly went down on the Earth
and the Sun rose over the crest
warming what icy shells
we'd so briefly and blissfully forgotten.
But alas,
for it was but a dream
and then I woke unto yet another;
but I thought
perhaps you may like to know.
I hope you slept well too."
Dec 15, 2015
Dec 15, 2015 at 12:47 PM UTC
Sickly, sticky-sweet syrup
oozes into our minds,
unbeknownst to us, so vulnerable.
We are painted the perfect picture,
sneak peaks of Utopia;
and are kept locked away by a camera lens.
Agonised and deliberated over,
by those who seek a fairy tale to repair a torn away heart.
Take a Lollipop with a wink,
Break up those four letters
and attack them with a recipe preached by idols,
two spoonfuls of lust,
a pinch of promiscuity,
and, (if you're really ravenous,)
finish with a sprinkle with insatiability.
Greedily we gluttonous Gannets
eat and eat and eat,
until the idea of right and wrong flies off the end of the scales.
Discover me using your own map;
And pick me,
and make me your favourite chocolate,
Throw away the box.
I'll be your smooth praline,
your sweet Turkish delight,
your bitter liqueur
all in one bite.
Love me: Dust me in a gentle coating of sugar.
Don't drown me in treacle.
Enjoy me: Dip me in dark chocolate.
No need to top me with whipped cream.
Nov 7, 2010
Nov 7, 2010 at 6:23 AM UTC
How do you feel about the word: Insatiable. That is my mind, forever devoid of what I can’t seem to pin. It is dull, throbbing hunger for more-more than a distant attraction claiming to be mine. Picture sent and picture received, but my body receives nothing more-more than desperate experiments. Countless hours of sexing in the darkness of a toxic Hummer. Toxic money burning a hole in my pocket, inches from the burning of his slick on my **** I hope his *** bleeds.
Let's light another cigarette, and watch the cherry bloom. A single rose, shimmering and flaring like a nuclear waste, and the light is out. So let's smoke some more-more mirrors. I often peer alone through those sheets of glass. “Substance, ketamine, satiate me,” I plead as I see me and I hate men. My faith in God is never mutual. These prayers are useless. His want for me is beyond repulsing. His money is useless. My body is rotten from the mind, out. I am the king of self loathing. I am useless.
Yet I go back for more-more pain. More quarrels. More lies. More-more. He only takes more. And I take him, too. Wait for it...wait for it...wait for him to; Come! O gentle souls. See how my confidence sways in thine wake. You are purity. You’re innocence. You're what I crave. To be free. To be whole. To be done. So do me like the ****** you know I am. I hope mine bleeds, too.
My veins are coursing, pulsing, shattering at the edges with blue. I am blue in both my complexion and my complex feelings and thoughts and pains. My veins are blue, and I am cold. Taste the metallic crush of my slang. It is intolerable, and I must not tolerate. The ripe stench of escape burdens my mind. My mind is escaping. I know there’s more. Toss the rug over the barbed wire and run. Run. **** that ***** and make her beg. Make her plead. Make her run. Sanguine with ketamine. Run, ****** run.
Mar 4, 2012
Mar 4, 2012 at 3:09 AM UTC
With ever-bounding enthusiasm, an enthralled, elated group of people embarked,
Not to visit a vast, vibrant land, but to colonize a capacious continent,
Imperial insatiability was inferred upon imagining an inventive future,
Latent with lustful leering upon the land, we, yes we, left for liberty.
With eyes of fire, souls of greed, arms of thunder,
We filched their land, stole their food, killed their eagle,
We shattered their culture, scorned their ways, and dared to call them savages,
We drenched our freedom-land, with the blood of natives.
We are the land of the brave in a prose penned by a poet,
Being brave we brutally butchered, under the guise of our liberty,
Barbarous is our embellished bravery; reckless is the loss of life,
A lost liberty echoes with the laughter of the ghosts of irony.
In a ****** battlefield lies dead our liberty, once free, once brave,
Imprisoned in a stunning story of sorrow, liberty shall we never know?
Freedom foregone is never forgotten, simply a freed freedom,
The bravery lost was passed to the savage souls we seized in the name of liberty.
May 30, 2013
May 30, 2013 at 3:11 AM UTC
Violence sells, *** sells,
but why?
WHY?
Do we have a greed as a society,
greedy need to feed insatiability?,
from East to West and North to South,
Watch carefully what spills from my mouth.
I can not digest what I divest to the dishevelled remains of my day.
I know they are not supposed to end or begin this way,
with tears instead of raindrops falling on my face, rolling down to...
to my paper covered desk, absorbed and lost drying the instant they were
spilled. Have you had your fill with what the world ills your way?
Take time to exhibit patient poise, in all that you face,
you are not alone in your lonely place, some say feel it,
I say try to pray and seal it! Away, oh Lord, away! Take me.
All this which is not the world's best will target you as a test, not the same
day or the same time, but sometimes, it will seem so as it comes all down the funnel
cloud of darkness of heavy woe and the gravity of your circumstances; pulls
at your hair on your head, plucks your nerves till your limbs feel heavy and dead
as your heart pumps red liquid poorly through the frozen pipes that circulate
oxygen with red tincture flowing that could be spilled like the tears and cover
the ground sorrowfully, bleeding ......
heartfelt loss
embarrassed as it is emptied,
from your vessel, with more cracks and
holes, pass me the plumbers' putty please!
Seal it and pray, each crack, each hole, each day,
C'mon!
It is not about how low down and into despair you go.
It is about him, Him! You might not agree, you might not
see, you may not believe, but He believed in you and me,
FIRST, so if things get bad or go worse,
look up from a position of pain, move to a place of
strength, to the rock, to the cleft, to the shadow of
an eagles' wings and then see what His mercy brings.....
Take what His mercy brings hold it close by your heart,
in your face.............your scars......the ugly...... will one
day BE gone........may my hollow sounding words tremble
like a tree-trunk under the weight of many birds that take flight
with your plight, your harsh existence, be carried away in flight
on the echo of "no more tears, no more tears" sends the winged
prayers to flights of spoken freedom........ heard higher and higher.
Apr 10, 2013
Apr 10, 2013 at 7:22 PM UTC
That's the thing about insatiability
It can't be compartmentalized
It doesn't have an appointment
Or even a purpose, really
It is a persistent, unwelcome fog
That creeps into your skull
Until it smooths over every surface
And dampens every thought beneath it
And though some days
The fog may dissipate
Nothing is ever good enough
Not for long, anyway
Aug 1, 2018
Aug 1, 2018 at 11:52 PM UTC
*Through lifetimes we are catapulted,
though only minutes have passed.
Murky depths swim to lure me in…
Danger lurks.
I hear them haunt,
ghosts of forgotten lullabies.
Drifting interlude fills my lungs like smoke,
gasping for what is real…
I scarcely know.
Like the silky beat of a wing in flight,
I am held within its merciless motion.
Fingers caress the intimate world I have created,
born within its possibilities.
Seductive lips wrought my vision,
encasing a world of mystery…
I am transfixed.
Words seep out along wisps of the empty,
re-writing history as I live it.
Gifted the presence of insatiability,
desire beyond all that insanity limits.
The peak of the mountain,
disillusioned by foggy drapery.
Love crimes baby,
the sheer passion of your spirit.
Passing through mirrors of time,
density is transformed.
Ease baby…
Ease is King of the Realm now.
Command me as I have only done to others before.*
Jun 25, 2014
Jun 25, 2014 at 2:31 AM UTC
I'll make the devil blush
Turn his head with my legs
Heave heavy in his breast
My pleasure in laughter
Wincing when he delivers
A Catholic sin, to be so full
Riding it like a bull
Enjoying the drip
Flushing body
Replenishing soul
Good thing my God
Has blessed me with this
Insatiability and the chance
To heal, to be pleasures, pleasured
Killing off the demons in my mind
I'm built for speed, sleek, lithe
Hard bodies, desperately in love
Show it with my grind
Indulge it in kind
Hips bring quivering thighs
High heels, fishnets
Behind closed doors
My Man knows how to please
With lips, hands such a tease
Bringing waves, little deaths
One by one, until the big one
A sensual massage
That lasts for hours
To which, I lose
My mind
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 6:57 AM UTC
Only she said that she loved you.
No one else could ever have weathered your storms,
a veritable hurricane nine times out of ten,
unpredictable in fury and still unspeakably beautiful.
She only said that she loved you.
It wasn’t as if she meant it,
it’s easy to drown in the torrential rain.
Never trust the calm before the storm.
She said only that she loved you.
She whispered it and screamed it to the ceiling
while you drank in her body.
You called her goddess.
She said that only she loved you.
That your appetite and insatiability were overwhelming.
After a storm the earth drinks, drinks
until it gorges itself on life. You indulge too much, she said.
She said that she only loved you,
as if only could modify love.
As if your love were not enough.
The storm raged in your eyes.
She said that she loved only you.
She said it to quell the stormy seas
upon your sunset cheeks, although
if anger, shame, or sadness even you couldn’t say.
She said that she loved you only.
You and no one else.
You and you and you.
And you almost believed it.
Oct 26, 2016
Oct 26, 2016 at 11:07 PM UTC
insatiability is congenital
the ability to be lazy
an important life lesson
stir the stew pass the soup
both items fraught
with catastrophic possibilities
best to stand back let it flow
very little need for movement
a full shift on the couch
whatever occurs adds to the norm
the world is a statisticians dream
numbers are mirrors facing each other
the vanity virus
Mar 4, 2014
Mar 4, 2014 at 1:51 PM UTC
Can you swallow hunger downwards
can you sleep it all away?
Work it out and calculate
revise and reshape
cursed and caged
by a body I cannot escape.
Another stone thrown across the river bed
another afternoon
without food.
I'm tired (so tired)
of this being the only thing
I cannot seem to lose.
Feb 27, 2025
Feb 27, 2025 at 1:59 AM UTC