"masticated" poems
Masticated Ectoplasm to Lance Corporal Tom
Masticated Ectoplasm to Lance Corporal Tom
Bumming your fat knobs and insert your helmet naked and unashamed
Masticated Ectoplasm to Lance Corporal Tom
Kicking off kick-off, cyborgs brought face to face
Tartan sunstroke and may Mumbo Jumbo's **** all lie among you
Nine, eleven, seven, thirteen, six, quinquereme, ******** ********* Tweedledum and Tweedledee, unsocial person, erectoffensive!
This is Masticated Ectoplasm to Lance Corporal Tom
You've really ****** the naval officer
And the hatchet faces want to know whose blouses you abuse
Now it's time to evacuate the ******* if you have a free hand
This is Lance Corporal Tom to Masticated Ectoplasm
I'm fancy dress dancing through the cat—flap
And I'm groping inside a swollen grotesque sailor
And the plums look gigantically unusual nowadays
Ergo from Land's End to John o' Groats am I piddling in a crumpet slammer
Telescopic hindward the lump
Uranus Arsenic is scatological
And there's sweet **** all I can have ****** *********** with
With the proviso that I'm Ichabod celibate centipede sextillion heads
I'm fondling vigorously paparazzo
And I think my sputnik knows which direction to ****
Tell my ballbreaker I ****** her vigorously for England, she bonks
Masticated Ectoplasm to Lance Corporal Tom
Your menstrual cycle's kaput, there's oojakapivvygizmo spleen
Can you smell me, Lance Corporal Tom?
Can you get to the bottom of me, Lance Corporal Tom?
Can you delve into me, Lance Corporal Tom?
Can you...
From Land's End to John o' Groats am I vibrating ring my crumpet criminal lunatic asylum
Telescopic hindward the groupie
Uranus Arsenic is scatological
And there's sweet **** all I can have ****** *********** with
Mar 27, 2010
Mar 27, 2010 at 4:22 PM UTC
Hypotonic collusions
Rising in osmotic lesions
An eruptive soul reversion
Emissions of embered logs
Each lightening with a glow
A youthful straw of clemency
Pollinated sandals, handled
Gripping the flesh in vessels
Houses of lost and unreal dreams
Vicarage gardens of suppression
Masticated in delegated abstractions
A surmise of death and redistributions
Each a beat rise, slide on frosty ice
Un-enveloped in seasons of erosion
Delusional commotions sprawled
In the dance of the ecstatic programming
The body waved and led in hypnosis
********** with the intangible essence
To make sense a revised tense,I fence
Straying in lenient lunacy to fields afar
A merry to ferry the phoenix dance
Rattles shaking in transit translations
Drums pause settling in finesse pond
A coitus of dimensional valour and vice
Feb 25, 2016
Feb 25, 2016 at 9:37 AM UTC
The trouble with writing a
relationship through technology
is that the bygones are never gone.
Why do I pour a drink in your absence
and settle to re-read our old fights, heartbreaks
like *********** lips parted, heart racing?
I shudder through those weeks where you petted me, darling
but could scarcely afford to feed me the same heart
being doggedly masticated in the maw of another
I trace over my retinas the lines where you didn't,
wouldn't, couldn't love me, they scan me
for my identity.
My mug shot, beside
hers.
After how little it meant, how can you possibly love me now?
I could edit these now, you know, you're able to do that.
Everything I wish I had been and said.
The pages left blank, I should've painted red.
In the spaces, hiatuses, I recall your ill-suited suitors
I can't tell whether I feel grief, jealousy, or ecstasy.
At the time, you know, it was like falling upon
The Secret Garden
unbefouled by poison nor passion
to inhale the heady scent of white rose
and discover the brim of someone else's hat beneath the foliage.
The place wasn't secret. Oh, it wasn't mine. Never ever was mine.
I'm ahead of myself. Oh, for want of technology.
We courted on Facebook and Gmail,
it was a convenient torture, given the circumstances.
Now my mate belongs where I do.
Loving, tenderly, wisely true.
I cannot start loading the page for the future
so much as delete our archive,
a prelude to love
written in diminished chords,
sung by the jilted and ghosts.
Nov 1, 2012
Nov 1, 2012 at 1:00 AM UTC
So you think you are a master of techniques of persuasion?
You shallow pips-squeak, mediocrity is your mastery
the obsequious hoi polloi that surround you are the pitiable averageness of conciliation
Sophistry and subterfuge are your game of compromised facts
syllogistic arithmetic conceptualizing doesn't make anything so
your addition is flawed by your bungled bombast of banality and guile
fortunately for you, your crowd will never study logic
fortunately for you semi-literacy is de rigueur
You pompous swollen grandiose mass of hyperbolic gas
Fear is what you offer, lies are what you sell
your rhetorical flourish is as the stench of a waste dump
fetid, corpulent, fallow and febrile
toxic
half-truths, innuendos, ambiguities, conjecture and asinine aspersions comprise your specious fare,
fostering rumours, manipulating facts, you are the purported Biblical brood of vipers so extensively reviled against
Your relevancy is attributable to the dull stupidity so profusely prevalent today
Your "success" is the stuff of taint and treachery
You'll probably choke to death on a stuck piece of poorly masticated flesh
so appropriate and befitting the demise of a professional liar
Apr 28, 2013
Apr 28, 2013 at 12:44 AM UTC
Moby ****
may have been
a
big
BIG
fish
and Ishmael
didn't have it so easy
But I need, I dream
of the epitome
of a flawless
ideal
piece of whitefish
A Succulent Bite
A Taste of Right
Hand battered
Deep fried
A
crunch
into heaven
Mouth-watering
yet light
Next to
crisp
oh-so
crisp
fries
Draft Rootbeer
Foam
in a mug
of delight
Mmmm Mmmmm
Seafood
See, this food
tastes like hope
Up North
I salivate
thinking of its
taste
thinking of
perfection
Man
Oh, Man
They don't make it
like this
anymore
So
so
fresh
This piece
Creates a sense
of peace
Harmony
on your palate
It turns
you up-turned nose
down
to the aroma
of a fisherman's skill
Natural Salt
of this world
brings you to a world
of pleasure
in a nibble
A coming together
on my plate
Skin-lined
Red Skin
potatoes
Frothy
Quenching
Rootbeer
Whitefish.
Simple Things
I found this fine trip
Combined with waterfall air
to breathe deep
My taste buds
had
gone up in
smoke.
My tongue
realized with
surprise
the possibilities of life.
May 19, 2010
May 19, 2010 at 2:15 AM UTC
Because it’s painful, hurts,
because it confuses and secretes;
I stall the horses.
It’s difficult to ignore, turn from,
I saw a couple of miniature ponies
in a VW bus turning left for the 101.
I couldn’t say anything more,
I bled in the garden, yaked,
couldn’t stand to answer why.
My body was playing along with
the purging, afraid my horses
grew wheels.
No strong arm to turn into
to be quiet.
A window maiden,
hoping he hadn’t come
with terms and conditions.
Prince-conditions,
they come on horses.
I have high horses,
In the narrow ventures
of my minds forest.
I lean on them, stall them,
stand taller but still a ‘maybe.’
A prince means, me, a princess.
I’m not a princess, No.
I’m an Empress.
I have my own ponies and buses.
I masticated… and,
Smack.
Forgot.
Little Feather,
don’t pain for a prince.
Don’t hold your horses,
stall them in the winter.
Your Emperor could
arrive pulling ponies
from blue VW buses.
Dec 21, 2015
Dec 21, 2015 at 3:23 PM UTC
SUCH A SUNNY DAY
the objects
in his pocket
have lost
their identity
their significance
to anyone but him
a hairy comb
photo of an unknown
woman
who can she be
a torn-in-two
train ticket
chewing gum
much masticated
yet put back
in his blazer's breast pocket
small change
a penny and a sixpence and
a button
from the cuff
no clue as to who
he had been
before the water claimed him
as its own
the disgust and fascination
of those
passersby who continue
to pass by
it such
a sunny day
for death to
intrude this way
the miscellany of objects
ownerless now
the waters of the Liffey
calm and unmoved
Dec 16, 2018
Dec 16, 2018 at 4:12 PM UTC
Half-sane near the Seine
with my Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum
who lifted her skirts
to give the lie to the Oriental Lie,
I thought it apposite that an insane
clochard stood a speaker's distance
and masticated franc notes like portions
of ****** "pain" while he ogled
the impenetrable ideogram of
The Beast With Two Backs penetrating
Apr 9, 2015
Apr 9, 2015 at 1:01 AM UTC
NO. NO SUGAR THANK YOU.
Took the telegram
from the telegram boy.
He looked like an angel.
"STOP!"( stop )it said.
It was from Death.
"Ahhhhh man..!" I said.
"I haven't got time to die!"
I sent a telegram back
quick as a flash.,
" NO STOP!"(stop).
I deleted Death
from my facebook friends.
Death sulked.
Hotfooted it to God..
"Tell himmmm!" Death boo hoo hoo'd.
God called me up.
But I ooops dropped
my mobile down the loo.
Flushed it away.
I hid my soul
behind an ormolu clock
that hadn't told the right time
for a long time now.
I stuck it to the back
with well masticated chewing gum.
Wrigleys.
The Devil I knew
invited me to tea.
"Is it hot in here or
. . .is it me"
My life struggled like a fly
stuck on flypaper.
"Shall I be mother?"
"One lump or two"
the Devil inquired politely.
"No. No sugar
thank you!"
Nov 29, 2018
Nov 29, 2018 at 7:29 PM UTC
I see the sun climb the white cushions and blue oceans
I hear the mesmerizing melody of the doves stringing and keying.
I smell the aroma of roses and tangerines racing through the air and crashing into my nostrils…ecstasy.
I feel the delicate, delicious, delightful caressing massage of silky roses.
I taste the sweet sugar of life.
It is you.
Do you not see?
No. I was
Mistaken.
You leave me with…
Reality.
Innocence exiled, as a child is stabbed until Breath is livered out of him.
The pulsating bombs of Life against Hope-the genocide of the Eardrums.
The ****** sweat stench of truth lingers over the vulnerable flowers like a gaseous cloud.
The piercing needle of truth injects into every pore. Reality in. Dreams out.
Faith disintegrates in the acid, cavity stricken world with masticated Hope regurgitated at will.
It is my fault. Did i not see?
Apr 11, 2013
Apr 11, 2013 at 12:31 AM UTC
In chewing on hypocrisy I've masticated truth
Yet I expect my tendencies to take me somewhere new
I'll stay a while and reconcile the world unto myself
Then claim the fate that I have lost to be my source of wealth
But what I gather with my hands collects upon my back
Exceeds the weight that I can bear for all the things I lack
I'm tacit, blue and out of breath, I lay my body down
And use the covers on my eyes to take me from this town
Mar 15, 2013
Mar 15, 2013 at 9:18 AM UTC
I haven’t found, or fallen, for her yet;
but then again, maybe I’d walked a block too far.
Maybe I’d crossed clay.
Maybe I’d sunk like a madman atop thin ice.
Maybe I’d forgotten as easily as I’d found,
when the treasure’s a fickle little smear of red-lipstick
and digits atop my mirror;
Mobius just a’gazin’ come mornin’
to the tune of tequila slipping lip
a mere moment and conundrum’s later,
always remembered,
always encountered and eternal,
pursued atop the medium as fragile as I.
And speaking of pass or impasse,
I still crawl from a tether towards tomorrow,
approaching a promise,
oh so fragile and soon to be broken like mother’s cookie jar
amidst thievery;
A tall tale and titled,
“one more enigma,”
when she’s passed and parallel,
“the,” way or beyond away,
in the car that’s to the left and now left behind,
or an image I’d once recalled –
Now masticated,
the years,
alone atop a mammoth pile and like an elephant’s carcass,
ivory and soon to be rust.
So yearns the watering hole of youth and never to visit again;
An offered solution and her parting wave,
a sincerity long gone over horizon.
I mull and move come this bravest venture,
sooner to be,
asp,
dung,
and maggot.
Futile when you call me,
“Oblivion.”
I guess I’ve got a lot to explain.
I guess I’ve grown to use to the noose,
aged,
forgotten,
and so very senile,
the foolish.
And I guess, ******
I guess, oh hell!
And guess I’m sorry for leaving when I had,
where I had,
how I had and more importantly who I had.
I guess,
fleeing from forever atop epoch.
I guess,
I guess,
I guess I’m breaking far more than I’d ever been broken.
And I'd guess, never knowing.
I guess and I’d become the hammer I’d ‘ever agonized –
She guessed –
And the house yawped,
“VICTORY!”
Again,
as I rest twisted metal and in a state of parched,
becoming the elephant seeking his first watering hole;
My dearest hope,
you'd still be there.
When the thirst of one kind destroys the thirst of another kind.
Jul 27, 2015
Jul 27, 2015 at 10:59 AM UTC
thoughts
fly
like
Scintillating Snow
Falling in Reverse
Up
Down
Vast Visage
blue Sky, angel's Frown
isn't This what Heaven looks like?
no
wait
Imploding to Verse
Masticated Mind
Death
Life
Devil's Flax
Harmony and Strife
Exploding Flower, Without Wax
Feb 19, 2013
Feb 19, 2013 at 10:34 AM UTC
Hold me,
In an embrace of thorns.
Hold me with a metallic feel,
Masticated love,
Votives made up of us
Rejected in full stead
To what appeal?
Wealth?
Life paid at the expense of ***
******* yourself.
May 5, 2024
May 5, 2024 at 7:32 AM UTC
let’s just end this pleasantly
you do what you please
without this dreary back and forth
vying for what exactly..?
any touch other than mine?
some barren wasteland
of some used up ****
or greasy Mexican
hardened ******* ****
this takes too much
of my precious time
or wasted time
either way
i heard the faintly
familiar sound of you
running out on reality,
like Alice chasing
that elusive rabbit
falling into a spiral
downward
facing dog
had your sleeves rolled up
and denim pulled down
hoping to fool yet
another kind of beating *****
hidden beneath layers of
thick cotton blend fabric
whose fibers remind me
of connection --
you know, that thing
that we pretended
to have.
like that time
that I told you
I owned a cat that died
in the fire of an
invented childhood
it felt almost real
like us
you washed your hands
three times that day
and you still
can’t get me off
can’t get me out
from under your
masticated claws
why so anxious?
i saw the nerves
pulsating beneath your
nearly transparent skin
hands clammy and cold
like your usual demeanor
you asked if I’d moved on,
well, I hadn’t but my body did
so I aggressed passively
the way you begged me to
yes, she was prettier than you
and yes, she was funnier than you
yes, she gave a better kiss
with softer lips
and she tasted like a
spoonful of sugar
helped the alcohol
go down
you secreted poison
into us and into me
lies soaked in formaldehyde
dripping from between
your trembling, dope sick
walking sticks
an act you balanced well
with no recognition of any
sort of lines
no black or white, just gray
like the cloud
hanging over your head
you rained down
self loathing and dread
and it soaked through my clothes
til my skin wrinkled
i couldn't take it anymore
i couldn't fake it anymore
and i felt bad for lying to you
but in retrospect
i should have lied a little more
i should have yelled a little more
to make you suffer
just a little more
that night before the very end
i sat alone, singing songs
of unrequited love
with a guitar between my legs
while you screamed for drugs
with a strangers ****
between yours
Jan 28, 2011
Jan 28, 2011 at 1:09 PM UTC
Alone in a forest
of dying trees
the scent of wet
decomposing leaves
Morose moose head
Cut at the neck
I can see your years
like tree rings
Body
Split in two
Down the center
At the Great Divide
Flies boil up from your flesh.
You were fuzzy once.
I can't hold my breath.
Putrescence fills my
lungs with rotting death
and my stomach turns
upside down.
Stumbling to fresh air
I trip
over your grinning, toothless
nearly human face,
spurting seemingly
ceaseless blood from
its masticated mind.
It is only attached to the torso.
I can see where your legs should be
and your are trying to drag yourself
through the dirt towards me
clawing with your
twisted fingers.
Trailing entrails,
half emptied.
Fully feeling.
I'm lying in bed.
Sunken eyes wide open.
All I can smell is rotting flesh.
I'm peeking down my hallway now,
and I see many mangled hands,
reaching from every doorway.
Burned, bruised, and beaten.
I sprint down the passage
frantically throwing
pentagrams
like ninja stars
through thresholds.
I hear sizzling like
morning roast
drips onto coffee burners,
and I explode into the kitchen.
"Good morning! Coffee is ready,"
Mother greets me, smiling.
The hallway is
dead silent.
Oct 30, 2014
Oct 30, 2014 at 6:49 AM UTC
Blued, nickel reflecting light,
Shining on the Reaper.
Frosted steel
Open-mouthed,
Longing to swallow
A half-dozen biscuits
1 part Copper,
1 part brass,
2 parts lead,
1 part saltpeter,
1 part charcoal,
1 part sulfur,
The recipe for the dough.
Once masticated
in jaws of tungsten
It spits the metal bolus,
And gives new name to grim.
Sep 21, 2019
Sep 21, 2019 at 9:02 PM UTC
Bukowski says "find what you love and let it **** you"
and i've done just that
like Snow White and the poison apple,
what was once flashy and alluring and right in front of my nose
has been consumed and is now a masticated pulp fuming rancid
smoke into my lungs
from the deepest pit of my heart
no prince's attempt at true love's kiss can pull me from this coma
i'm in love with the darkness and my enduring hope for light
a light so bright that it will illuminate my veins, my troubled thoughts
will change from knots
into silk chains,
but until then, i'll comfortably rest in my summertime sadness
Aug 4, 2015
Aug 4, 2015 at 6:35 PM UTC
a thousand sounds all around me
a clattering, cluttering cacophony
a thousand sounds all around me
none of them come near
an aura of silence grips the soul
and exhausting, suffocating choking
an aura of silence grips the soul
screaming but never heard
a taste of ashes in the mouth
a muffling, masticated mass
a taste of ashes in the mouth
teeth grinding into slivers
an emptiness within my heart
an awareness, agonising absence
an emptiness within my heart
terrified by echoes
a darkness grips my mind
an expression endlessly unseen
a darkness grips my mind
there will be no light again.
May 4, 2014
May 4, 2014 at 12:42 AM UTC
lets take a chance and find harmony in our equations
shades of perspiration or passionate vacations
in lands of milk and honey we remain fixated on our screens
as these television dreams exaggerate our neediness
your pleasure had abated so instead you masticated the equator
can equestrian women really be blamed for these strange situations
its simple really if you let yourself adapt to the fluctuations
you can read a good book to change your outlook
or once in a blue moon you could attempt to exercise
your mind through meditation
once in awhile you could even stand up to change the station
if our capacity for feeling is unlimited really
with a bandwidth of infinity
than i wonder if its even necessary
that we keep pretending that our needs are so **** shallow
Nov 13, 2018
Nov 13, 2018 at 3:14 PM UTC
once bitten, twice shy.
makes perfect sense
but i'm pressing the teethmarks
she left on my chest
and i've missed this tender aching.
i've missed the misery that
summarises me when we're apart.
infatuated.
cross my masticated beating heart
stick a needle in my eye
once bitten, twice shy
i'll try to fall in love once
before i die.
Sep 18, 2017
Sep 18, 2017 at 6:55 AM UTC
That eerie afternoon she looked at herself. Swiftly so that she wouldn’t get disheartened. She noticed the thousand lipstick stains the sun had planted on her. Then she saw the place where he had masticated on her once fragile, delicate skin. Now dithering and dilapidated by the devil. She felt her mind blunder, which was better for her. It was better than her having to feel the agony of being a walking broken art piece.
Oct 17, 2016
Oct 17, 2016 at 6:26 AM UTC
What is she dreaming of?
How calm is she,
Forever
At peace.
A Newborn
Awakes in the dark.
Fall into flames.
A spark.
From shadows to sleep,
To wonder to ponder
A maze in the sand.
It is coming along the shore;
Stop being
So serious.
Stop being
So closed.
Stop being
So stop
To the wonder in a field with red dresses.
A part of me and none of you
From a void.
A hole in the fence.
A whole in the
Fence.
Daughters tied in hoses
Forget the masticated
Noses
An inch above the lip
In a land so close.
Honest.
Rich.
Sleep
If you love me,
There's nothing else I need.
Ça va?
Ça va?
How clean.
Ça va?
Ça va?
How clean everything is.
Sep 30, 2013
Sep 30, 2013 at 11:03 PM UTC
i am afraid of my tongue because i do not like to break silence
but i like to describe it and i cannot do that without destroying it
/'
but i am worried
i am worried of how
how i will break it
/'
the sound of the crack of a whip
a sharp tongue licking the air
/'
an explosion of proximity
the bursting breath of approximation
/'
masticated thoughts bite loose tongues
bite your tongue bite your tongue!
/'
give it to the cat to play with
until it is dead and no longer fun
Nov 5, 2015
Nov 5, 2015 at 11:42 PM UTC
i sometimes find myself
thinking about time
and its ability to shrink me
to a singularity in space
and remind me of my unimportance
my insignificance in the face of
a marching army intent
on mowing me down
and splashing their leather boots
in the puddles of my blood
that runs through the fields
and waters the crops
takes a part of me to nourish
from east coast to west coast
to the heartland
and beyond the sea
sometimes i think about
how time takes history
into its sanguinely stained mouth
silver spoon held gingerly
in a vice grip in the
hand of a grandfather that
knows all my secrets
and my shame
he swallows them
masticated to a grey mass
whose form has been lost
an amorphous ball of
unspeakable words and
dreams that had until recently
lived in the pit of my stomach
burrowing into my bowels
trying desperately to escape
to break free from the misty world
of 'if's and 'maybes'
of 'hope'
of reckless abandon
if the words escaped
somehow
the infinite gravity of
time's death grip
could the blind masses comprehend them?
gathered around the
burning wreckage of that
shooting star that fell
from the wide open
obsidian sky
they speak
but they do not understand
they hear
but they do not listen
and my dream
my desperate words that
condensed until they both
imploded into a vitreous glass
of transparent delusion
and exploded to burn
and consume the world that
they have neglected
as they gather around
my message
and their own Tower of Babel
where they've lost their words.
May 19, 2015
May 19, 2015 at 12:42 PM UTC