"lubrication" poems
Please forgive my hesitation
at instigation of flirtation.
Did I ensure my elimination?
My romantic assassination?
I'll gladly partake in any placation,
for any chance of indoctrination
to the centralization of your concentration.
An operation of admiration.
A correlation of inflammation.
Your gravitation brings animation,
exclamation and elongation.
My specialization is duration.
Not to hint at a connotation,
but I feel a certain **********
by an obligation to a certain destination
where your presentation gives me restoration.
Petrification?
Total mind evacuation?
Would clarification bring fascination?
Stimulation!
Salivation!
Gratification!
Insinuation of fornication?
A simple salutation to syncopation.
Would a single bright carnation
be enough of a motivation,
for a two way relocation?
Would poetic recitation
be sufficient lubrication
for collaboration?
A consolidation?
Or an exacerbation of isolation?
Please hold no reservation,
I've only got one aspiration.
To achieve a higher elevation;
by means of inhalation,
or a certain recreation
involving a bit of perspiration
along with physical communication.
Does this seem such a bad situation?
Or are you ready for pure elation?
Feb 18, 2010
Feb 18, 2010 at 12:56 PM UTC
is it love
or the parasite ?
my pilot bulk
aims for relief
it pursues this via
your romantic correction
in public arena
a library stair
(i never prior encountered you)
one step as foreigner
the approach
and upon a swift internal pendulum
i make witless incisions
hurried mended sentences
directed stuns
invasive
i demand the compromise
of your company
hastily push at boundaries and
you're not so accommodating
but
on a further occasion
same building
we exchange a battering of conversation
that
then
matures
into barter-like use of language
despite my harassments
a civil cultivation is unearthed
tongue within this intelligence effort i lessen
loosen my demanding appearance
disregard my dignity
a skin suit about the ankles
you're open in a vein of similarity
you flesh out your own controls
we've progressed quickly
there's an aped conduct
and flashing attitudes
this time we share table space
a nearby café
we have become quite unmanned
repeated meet ups
upon humours we adjust small habits
and shake on perceptions where we overlap
it becomes
more an overlay of rationalities
than resented promises
fast time passes and
i move into your living space
i pick a wildflower
and put it in the tiny vase on your dining table
we agree on its colour
we agree on a book to make our bible material
we agree on the pitch of the tinnitus we share
the clothes i am to wear
i switch to your diet
and you cease taking medications
we sleep on your lawn like children
and bring down the night sky for comfort
during the day we wear our sleep
like a lubrication for our chores
and go about our productivity
in genuine partnership
yet
i feel we're just out of reach
of some dark harm
we are an excellent sample pair
it is all vital
we grow stronger the more we quiz it
recycling our **********
refine our agreements
await further impulses
and come closer to plug
so..
do we please love
or simply indulge a parasite ?
Nov 23, 2021
Nov 23, 2021 at 10:28 PM UTC
I love that Jewish ****
I know it’s better than whatever ****
That you’ve been gettin’
It’s Israeli and it’s rarely being used *****
Just look at you *****
You spent an hour in the shower
Feeling useless
Until you had the realization
That the water’s lubrication’s
Even worse than when you use spit
You know, I’m all about the Benjamins
But I’m chilling on the Abrahams
That’s a little too hasidic
For a person who’s obsessively
Collecting all the circumcised
Erections in this city
‘Cause he’s orthodox, get it?
Aug 3, 2023
Aug 3, 2023 at 7:21 AM UTC
How horrible the plot
the hem, the haw
of the incessantly violent
torture ****
How sad the politic
the row, the scorn
the media howl, the noise
the storm
We are drifting in a sea
of bobble head puppets
backstabbing, mass murdering
mask-faced tyrants
and we are loosing the battle
before it's even begun
So go ahead now
and trade in your votes
sell off your rights
buy a backfiring gun
Because nothing is worse
than trying to reverse evolution
and you can't crawl back
into the womb of your Mother
once you've destroyed
the primordial ooze
of creation's lubrication
for a dollar and a cheapened dream's
inflation
Jan 11, 2017
Jan 11, 2017 at 5:08 PM UTC
lunar luminance lights his lucent lordly lair.
leaden legs languish lazily as he lay, laconic--
lexical loquaciousness long lost.
his latent lupine lust lignifies and lengthens,
longing lonesomely for his lovely limber lioness.
with lips of luxurious labial liquer,
and licks lapping like lashing lingual lightning,
liquifying his lavish lover, luscious lyrical lubrication.
May 25, 2013
May 25, 2013 at 1:14 AM UTC
lil taffy two tugs would wake up to the dawn,leaping to his laptop searching sites for porn,thanking stephen hawkins, also mr gates,grateful of technology, while taffy masterbates.the boyo bashed his bishop, most of all his life,now pc world was better and cheaper than a wife,lubrication, change of hands, oil and vaseline,lesbians, fat fetishes, and threesomes on his screen,but poor ole taffy passed away, his family in disgrace,trousers round his ankles, a smile upon his face,but two tugs died so happy, while he had a vid on,undertaker done his nutt,,,,he could'nt get the lid on.
Feb 23, 2010
Feb 23, 2010 at 12:37 PM UTC
Although she didn’t use these exact words,
What it got down to was:
“My **** hurts!”
Your age-appropriate **** buddy
Experiencing a profound lubrication deficit.
Vaginal dryness:
A legitimate topic these days for
Baby-Boom conversation.
“65: the New 30,” the slogan rings.
A Mel Brooks clarion call,
Harvey Corman doing Count Da Money:
"Don't get saucy with me, Bearnaise!"
For all our good friends at
KY, Vaseline & Astroglide--
As recommended by female OB/GYNs,
(Should there be any other kind?)
Sales projections are rosy for
Ottmar’s Coconut Cooch Oil,
Despite the economic downturn,
So, naturally, you commence your
Search for a young, wet—sopping wet—co-ed,
Running the risk of bumping into
Some UC Berkeley ****
Who digs older gentlemen, and
Knows your daughter, Gwendolyn.
Jun 27, 2014
Jun 27, 2014 at 1:38 PM UTC
I want to make trouble tonight.
To make my song different from normal speech
like the ladies from India.
I need nothing more than a little
Understanding her wordless wails takes time
I want possibilities tonight
So stay away from my popcorn
her last words were "Can I have som-" then
I want to pound down one or two pints of
Social lubrication never tasted so good
What?
Jun 24, 2010
Jun 24, 2010 at 6:05 PM UTC
Women Stereotypes
10w40
This is so popular, proven to have high performance even if it is synthetic. That does not make any sense realistically. It strokes engines brilliantly. The most expensive even on sale. It does not deter dirt.
3 in 1
The lubricant can be trusted the fact that it dries quicker, penetrating the stuck locks as well preventing further corrosion.
Exotic Graphite
As exotic as graphite is, it does a good job by providing a long lasting lubrication. It repels water too! It’s cheaper that the rest and it extends life. It makes a proper logic economically. You pay less but get more!
Lubricant Affordability
3in1 and graphite deter dust and are cheaper than 10W40.
Does that make you more ambivalent?... ;0)
Anticlimax lubricant ambivalence has reached it’s ******
Armed downhill by the rusted adjusted shielded knight.
Pasted in exquisite oil, no distaste or aftertaste.
Dunked in abluent..........Dented but affluent!
Jul 14, 2016
Jul 14, 2016 at 5:12 PM UTC
Rap is truly poetry in motion
With a beat
Hip Hop can move a writer’s pen to pad
Emotions to words
Music, the lubrication to an artist’s ear
It’s motivation
Motivating the writer to be better
Rap is poetry
And Poetry is my life.
Sep 14, 2013
Sep 14, 2013 at 1:48 PM UTC
architectural mollusks
are falloping through
my brain
squeezing past the
instincts that
have kept me down
My instincts,
once brittle sea stars
that splintered
into cracked
peppercorns,
are now mixed with
the breathy liquid
of squid,
lubrication for
the spiny paths ahead
They blow their ink
between my
inverted vertebrae
injecting Jello into bone
busting through
fiber and tissue like
fresh-skimmed
lavacream
and all my muck
rises to the top
in a neon rawness
that I find beautiful
Soon
my burning crevices
will be cooled
fossils will turn to flesh
and, as sure as knowledge
springs into action
I will make
for the shoreline
like a cephalopod rocket
silky smooth
my fins spun into wings
touching magic
as they glide
Apr 7, 2018
Apr 7, 2018 at 5:29 PM UTC
You frown, I frown.
What obligates you?
And to I-why?
Do not we dote;
the elongation
of our tumultuous spirit?
Like a waterfall in pursuit of a sea,
Like weary eyes in need of lubrication,
Like a meowing kitten craving for milk.
Suffice is not.
Ere we beseech serenity
-an equilibrium.
O speak,
From your deepest well
-gay or remorse.
For a mirror, I am not.
Feb 3, 2012
Feb 3, 2012 at 10:08 AM UTC
The potency froths the glass in ghostly embers.
Rectifying a suppressed kiss.
Liquid's juicy lubrication sweats
as the icy voice asks,
refill my void.
Fingernails cling
like thorns to skin.
Waterlogged and fogged,
my footsteps fall,
sloppy little domino.
Mindful thoughts yank at drunk appendages.
One too many benders, far too many hands.
Awake, the memory kaleidoscopes.
Pieces unmatched.
Strange images fade,
meshed in sheets.
evidence stains.
Jan 10, 2019
Jan 10, 2019 at 5:09 PM UTC
There's a poem hidden on my tongue
but I just can't find it,
my mouth is numb.
I've been sipping on winter for way too long,
this city is colder than your bubbler ****
but I like the way it's one way streets all seem to lead from you to me,
and I like how you take them at full throttle
playing marco polo with the bottom of the bottle-
-As if you don't find it every night;
like the last few drops aren't your lullaby.
And it's an alibi that lulls you out of lucidity,
because your favourite superpower is anonymity.
And you don't mind if I show up when I'm ******* high,
because I'm a god **** child who can't handle life.
*I'm the peak of the mountain all covered in white,
I'm the age old dragon,
I'm the youthful sprite*
I'm the bowl that you smoke when you come down slowly,
I'm the pipe that you **** when you got no rollies.
I'm your vice, I'm your habit, I'm your bad addiction
I'm your fight, I'm your project, I'm your real life fiction.
I'm the cut on your tongue that you won't let heal,
I'm the poem in your mouth that you cannot feel.
Now I'm the lover of your discontent,
I'm the jar in your cupboard that's labelled 'rent'.
It's the 26th and the jar's still empty,
but we've got a two-six and your pouring hand's heavy.
Using whisky and water as lubrication-
it numbs and smooths through our expectations.
And I don't know when we made the agreement to feed our ***** and starve our feelings,
But my belly feels full like the waxing moon,
and my chest holds as much as a fractured spoon.
*Naked and hungry-
we share your bed
-searching for the words, in each other's heads.*
Mar 27, 2014
Mar 27, 2014 at 10:11 PM UTC
Soft breezes of clean melancholy
Pumped out with constant velocity
Its striking again, and colder she is
He awaits the lubrication
to ease down the ongoing friction
Bearings creaks and pushes off balance
And The fan rotates forever of today
The growing ebbs of falling tides
Now buries deep inside the highest cliff
The soft breeze ***** in with higher velocity,
subsidized adiathermic smiles react
Smells of heated tissue everywhere
And the fan rotates forever
Tiring job of being a healer
when you are damaged from forever
Clasping the final breath
The fan rotates forever of today
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 9:35 PM UTC
with a rusted,dented fender...
i drive off into my life.
seeking the Christ that can pound it out and bring back the light...
bring back the shine to the surface of a machine that has seen better days.
as i'm rolling away,...i do it with faith.
traveling across the earths face...
my driver seat is in the here and now...
set within the vehicle that pulls me along out into the future.
where it will roll,...i can't be too sure.
my hands are on the wheel...
it's a slippery device that bears the lubrication of perspiration which is my life...
the tires have spun for far too long...
everything in the rear view will soon be gone.
onward...rusted...into the horizon...
Sep 10, 2012
Sep 10, 2012 at 2:53 AM UTC
Hurled, entwined, the eyes go black,
Steel sarcophagus, demons stare back,
A glimpse so foul, of the abyss,
My life, it ends, possibility is missed,
The blood, gooey warm, and slick,
Lubrication of foulest finery and sick,
Glass shattering in mindless trance,
Thrown in the air to land on our back,
Twisted, cruelly formed, we look in oblivion,
Nothing sacred, it fits my life's ruin,
"Take me now Azrael, for I fear you not,"
Death will allow me to find peace and rot,
Worried, fearful, the gore too much,
Too little for my hands to touch,
Scalp displayed, upon landing safe,
I cry out, calming and wait,
The blood drips down upon my hand,
The pale skin turns sanguine, I find it hard to stand,
Entombed in metal, a twisted turn of fate,
She leaps to thought, I caress her cheek,
"Safe, be still, I'm here" I repeat.
I relocate my shoulder, a sickening pop
stomach turning pain, the faint I stop.
I wrench the door, and run around,
I rip hers open and rip casing to the ground,
Too shocked to cry, I gaze upon the wound,
I assess it as severe, although life is imbued,
_
CALL FOR HELP
I scream like the Devil.
My wrath for nothing but fear of loss
Drives my fury for her safety lost,
I hold a bandage to her head, and wait the eternal wait,
Speaking comforting lies, hoping they were true, and damning my own fate,
I hold her close and kiss her cheek,
I wipe the blood from my lips and realize I am weak.
"God, I'd give my life for her to heal"
Maybe it's a nightmare, this cannot be real.
-
In safety's arms, I still cry out,
I'M FINE, SEE TO HER, in doubt,
I leave my bed to wander the halls,
Searching for my name be called,
To be exhaled through the lips of a love,
To find my heart flutter, the wings of a dove,
The sight of her stabbed my eyes,
"Something so precious...", myself I despised.
I fought my way to her, and was almost placed in arrest,
I returned calm, I'm no help in duress,
I stand by her side and kiss her hand,
As my heart died, she smiled, I could stand.
May 15, 2013
May 15, 2013 at 9:40 PM UTC
I only feel completely me,
Twenty seconds after I've finished spooning up the froth
from a perfect flat white,
Or ten minutes after the final sip
of that first glass of champagne.
It's like something clicks in my head -
Buzz or bubbles -
I need that lubrication
To feel complete.
And so my weekday mornings
And my weekend evenings
are set.
I should experiment for a single week;
Switch the two around.
The office would be interesting,
And my Friday night would be terribly productive,
If perhaps a little tame...
Sep 28, 2013
Sep 28, 2013 at 9:12 AM UTC
It coasts on the dips and dives
along smooth muscle, contracting
pushing, friction absent
and lubrication self-perpetuating.
She called it a spiral, but
I don't see it that way.
It is funny how the little things --
orange and purple and white petals
strings of words together like beads
white-bordered photographs in sepia
-- are bigger than they should be
and shrinking into the smallest spaces
ubiquitous and permeating
reproducing
on and onward pulling.
How do you determine the area of a feeling
how you wipe it down like auto wax
all the crevices like jelly in the webbing
between your fingers
all the misplaced metaphor and you're assuming
I know what you're talking about
you're assuming I care.
I see them there in the bright lights.
I want to be with them.
I want to be a part of nothing.
I want something to be a part of me.
The circle is the mockingest of shapes
daring the others to find its edges
a noose for the mathematician
relying on impossible for truth discovery
the approximation to determine strength or mass or density.
A curve is inherently incorrect
and creates problems for the navigators
who trust cohesion and consistency
who trust each other in cohesion
and constant and consistent standard creation
who challenge the borders of the world
and braid together the loose ends
cruising on new planes.
I watched the wing fall into the water
into the lake, that's a lake, right?
It feels like it goes on forever.
Loud noise.
Open eyes.
Dart right and right.
Grab. Hold. Release.
Quiet.
In chalk on the floor, I drew one of those shapes.
I crawled inside of it, curled up into it.
I closed my eyes tight and held my knees together.
Aug 29, 2013
Aug 29, 2013 at 12:19 PM UTC
In the inner workings of my mind
a cog has slipped.
Things are turning at odd times.
Fast then slow, then fast again.
Lubrication running out,
frustrations setting in.
Memories escape me.
While wild machinations
fill my head.
Life and Death,
Pleasure and Pain.
Wait, I feel the cog has slipped again.
Life and Pain,
Death and Pleasure,
Is that right,
or is it the other?
Maybe it's neither,
maybe the cog is just broken.
In the inner workings of my mind I am insane.
Shhhh...........
Don't tell anyone.
Nov 30, 2024
Nov 30, 2024 at 10:07 PM UTC
the proof of the soul is evident with a continuation of the Einstein particle, from theory into practice - the proof is short-lived, the indestructible attache of man lingers on, his the soul, democratically a medium of revision and certainty - improved instruments of investigation, the purity of reasoning later meddling with the senses of other's being given certainty: σ (total) - ¼ = σ (¾, i.e. remnant and electron cloud symbiosis of partaking in Gemini simultaneous coordination) - the thunder and lightning, a 747 and the delay vacuum cleaner "echo" - on a less grander scale plumber's apprenticeships - perhaps less grand, but therefore all the more necessary, zenith of self-worth, rather than god-worth, audacity on the dance-floor and no prim-cut hopes kneeling in a church for added fancy to desire clemency.
i do believe the Hindu polytheistic theory of reincarnation exists -
but in no way related to the resurrection of σ -
a totality of a person - whatever given characteristics in total,
i mean replicating mannerisms
as a form of adaptability will only make
a clone a clone on paper (in theory),
but the original experienced whatever
environment was to be experienced -
to have a true clone would also mean
replicating the environment,
and that's impossible - in science as in
nature we're susceptible to ungovernable
forces - a tornado uproots a mid-western
house and juggles it about like a boxer -
a tsunami and the sun with its 5,000 starving
Sudanese children - whatever -
but reincarnation does exist in a different
psychological medium, in the id - the shortened
version / unit of ideas - it it it or that that that -
ideas are resurrected or reincarnated (passed on)
all the time - i can understand a Hindu
in only this reality - not in the reality of an
entirety of the individual and the environment
for the individual's individuation -
an idea can be resurrected - there's always
continuity in philosophy, whereas history sees
disconnected events due to it's prime tool as a hope
for averting them (hindsight), philosophy in historical
terms is always a seance of connectivity - lubrication,
evolution, adding to, saving up, discharge, mid-life crisis.
i can't understand the Hindu concept of reincarnation
when it comes to people - each adapted and each
an ongoing process - ideas can be reincarnated -
by egos? not really.
Jul 14, 2016
Jul 14, 2016 at 8:19 PM UTC
songs, senses pleasing themselves, beat, of silence, song, of ************ of lubrication, beat, of the time in a shift in conversation, expression, in the birds, who do it instinctually, to people, who do it as sponges, yes. we are all spongbob, hurting and dancing and blowing bubbles, ready, ready, ready
Feb 15, 2015
Feb 15, 2015 at 4:28 PM UTC
We can sense it.
Something deplorable
is about to happen--
we can no longer stop the ranks
of housebroken infidels
from migrating into the wild
they have never encountered
beyond photo and film.
It's coming out! The stampede
of hairy-legged pheromones
we could once browbeat
into prepubescent shame
with the speed of a smack
upon the tender noggin!
It takes courage to enjoy
the canned campfire stories
we passed off as ageless doctrine.
How they once recoiled, squirming
like slugs thrown in a salt mine!
Now the writhing is self-inflicted,
the sweat off their brows no longer
cold, damp beads but now welcome
lubrication that slithers down
their lecherous masses of flesh!
Despite our most dogmatic toiling,
the iron shroud has revealed itself
as a featherweight curtain within a few tugs.
Anyone else feel the walls shake to and fro?
Why does the water in that glass ripple so?
Has it arrived already? The end of our reign
as dictators of the prevailing value system?
Fetch thee the community smelling salts!
Too late! The young and vulnerable
have already begun to trample!
Push the powder out of your wigs
to blind yourself from the carnage!
*The Age of Inhibition has screeched
and skidded into its evil twin's Renaissance.
Big time sensuality has straddled the saddle,
too busy racing avenues to declare victory.*
Jun 26, 2015
Jun 26, 2015 at 2:46 AM UTC
Sweat drips down her face. Down her chin. Down her *******
Its getting in the way
So she gets reckless
So she heaves it over her head
And runs
The shutter slams behind her
But she doesn’t look back
Only forward
Only forward
Only forward
Wayward warrior stuck in motion
Sweat and tears lubricate her body
And though her mind is getting wobbly
She stays up
Even when she hears the gun
Even when she sees her blood
Even when his voice erupts
But it’s getting bleaker by the second
For her run is now a crawl
And in no time at all
She’s been dragged back to that bathroom stall
Now her liquids work against her
Before they were just in the way
But now
They augment her pain
The Blood
The Sweat
The Tears
They Drip
He smears them on her lips
Then he shoves it in
Shame fills her up again
But all the while she breathes
With a gasping open mouth
She’s not broken yet she thinks
But give me more is what she pleads
Which makes him get more into it
But she’s not lookin to be intimate
So she takes the stall and slams him into it
He thinks she thinks he’s dumb
So he then just calls her bluff
But he doesn’t notice how much she’s losing blood
But she hears it trickle on the floor
And before he can defile her anymore
She uses the blood as leverage
To slip
and Bring him to the floor
Then there is a crash
The toilet is smashed
And the only thing broken is the porcelain
And his skull
She’s alive
She on top
So she gets off
And takes him out
She looks down
And pulls up her pants
Then she winces
At the sudden realization
That she once admired this tyrant
In another time she would have liked it
But once she admitted her potential desire
She knew it had given her the will to be the survivor
Mar 1, 2012
Mar 1, 2012 at 9:00 PM UTC