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Robby Cale Feb 2010
Look, I just want to move you.
Woo you.
Shake you loose but never lose you.
I want to
Savor the glazed reverent silence
Of your gasping, ungrasped breath.
Sip it down till there's nothing left
Yet still explain all the rest.
See, it's time I unearth some gold.
Nothing here sold.
Just given freely to slurp up,
served up cold.
But I dare not go it alone.
Not when there's so many heplping hands
Beyond my own.
So I first court Eloquence.
She's an easy mark to find,
volubly masticating volumes
while leisurely lathering her tanned,
Leather skin.
Dolloping her monocle-bodied features
In librarian sin.
She says...
"My dear boy.
Berate them NOT
with your false start,
lethargic oddities.
Your penchant,
Melancholic falsities.
You must but grunt through the trudgery
Of your muddy misgivings,
And birth only accessible
Pertinent notions.
Neither precarious nor
Incongruous to the truth!
Robby.
You must simply relinquish your
Intrepid, frenzied paucities!
So I dismiss the diss.
Since
her big scary words are kinda lost to me.
Evidently, though,
I must need a Joe Blow.
An Everyman.
A Streetcorner Clairvoyant.
I turn to
(drum roll)
Raunchiness.
His beer belly **** and **** jokes
And dollar store aftershave suggest
A pleasing 'pull-my-finger' charm
that just might turn the trick.
He licks his lips,
And chides through a buck-tooth,
Spit shine smile.
Sheeeooot, boy,
That there one's easy.
All you gotsta do is
Go down deep
And speak from your gut.
Tell em how you feel..
How you REALLY feel.
Tell em..
shoot, tell em they rub you just right,
You might well feel as ***** as
Your gas gauge after a good pump.
As ***** as a McD's wrapper
Corner-pinch-discarded like
A used diaper hammock.
Yeah! You tell em your as ******
As a receptacle
For used diaper hammocks!
Hells yeah.
Girls will eat that **** up!
And say you're as gay as rainbow gold
As straight as an arrow-head.
As misled as finding your folks are still *** fiends
or as contradictory as ***** like me!
Boy, you are as con-fused as the
Lumpy, stumpy, pimply dimpled teen who finds out
Santa Claus IS real!
And he's hanging out loose
In every single Hustler Magazine!
Now hear me boy.
If they still don't care,
Or they see that you're scared,
Just say you feel as guilty as midnight dials
From parents of Girls-Gone-Wild,
sneering,
"Well shoot, sugar plum.
You sure ain't been feeling
Real secure in awhile."
And as he loosely labels me
As awkward as **** thermometers,
As misunderstood as **** plugs,
I give Raunchiness a dismissive shrug,
And return to the mystery
Of what I've missed from me,
Whatever still may be
My own poetic style.
Extra...extra...Trumpasaurus Extinction

(Only a pipe dream)
Obsolete "FAKE" news
Extra...extra...Trumpasaurus Extinction,
Now Putin Rules As De Facto Leader!

Pastor Of Muppets – shout huzzah...
no mo' Trump he's Gone er re: ya
especially “father figure” for Miss Piggy
-----------------------------------------------------------­----
More'n a ***** dozen deeds done dirt cheap moon units ago
since presidential election took us down the highway to hell  
emotional, social repercussions still reverberate
how reprobate Trump triumphed

graduating magma *** lug head
to become leader of free world
acing highest score (via cribbed cheat sheet)
per Electoral College examination.
noah yam aghast (still feel nauseated) as
Donald trump got nominated president elect,

or more apropos an inept apprentice,
though a teetotaler delirium tremens,
brings corporeal bris
ling foretelling premonition
oven approaching crisis
as one basket of deplorable,

whose shell shocked eggs ess
tints did not peter out
re: fate rigged 2016 election appalled hike con fess
at prospect outsize bully nabbed
most sought after house seat - ugh guess

thine psyche fearful that arrogance, indecency,
pomposity, and vivacity will break ranks and restore Hess
shun militaristic modus operandi crowning himself
King Kong of amerika - applauded
by a *** dread locked Klansmen less
or more, with spirit of a jolly roger intent

shredding sacred documents, and creating a mess;
ages will require to restore righteous, and officious,
amazing gracious steeped ford did legacy
of forefathers and mothers
(against trump driving the country
into wah hell in a hand basket),

which democratic rubric Paine stay king lee
easel lee trampled oh press
sieve lee in sync with missteps
made during on the job training

at national ex pence augments ominous
ramping up of tess toss tear roan,
wherefore if happenstance finds Czech mated express
train tearing down the tracts,
we the people of the United States might vouchsafe
for a veep ping Petsmart prodigy to take over - YES!
-  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -
Reince Priebus promises to hold sway,
while hi yam rez hind tune augur
race shin, more than approximately 300 hours ago,
a fate worse than death doth bode

despite hangover lingering effect
unable to shake mice elf sober
despite chugging nary an ale
memory summons back,

hide dashed hoof well-healed poem express
sing reaction while shuttered in me man cave dale
how Democratic Party did fail
to clinch nomination,

thus with measured words this male
wants to air and share his non-rapacious sentiments
others no doubt harbor various
seas sinned reactions that might pale

in terms - their private tear ring expressions
explicitly rant and rail against unexpected
and unacceptable result, where scale
of moderation heavily tilted
toward possible global travail

armaments stacked as thee Barron doth un veil
bombardiers carpet bomb
(whoops....accidentally kilt Trump heathen)
while manning his Taj Mahal casino gun whale.
-  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -
-  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -
ABOUT ONE MILLENNIUM LATER
-  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -
what cha red back in history class i.e. yes...
that traitorous treacherous treasonous tale,
but truth told since time immemorial
whom sever decreed demise
of terrible lizard beasts aye

moost upend long entrenched theory,
and bid good bye
sans foursquare extinction reeks foul,
cuz one pea brained reptilian

o’er shadowed all as fiercest, he ranged free
amidst a cut throat rogues gallery
thee unnamable overlooked
sinister species sought supremacy

(gamut of miniature game pieces
model available at sundry department stores
wherever schlocky plastic model toys sold)
popular trapping of childhood imagination –

imbue vainglorious ventriloquist
inciting fiendish cry
such kiddy paraphernalia
forever a top selling plaything
snapped off shelves leaving allocated space bone dry.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Since time immemorial dinosaur makeshift gewgaws
did cap cha ominous jaws,
and populated fertile land of cave dwellers
whereat swaddled kinder babes bellowed believable
farcically feigned ferocious fabrications foraging bankrupt

foretold foreclosure to espy real McCoy
perhaps assembled from mud, rocks and sticks
noisome predators snatching
voice some innocent prey  -

ripping to tatters and shreds
unlucky victim rarely escaping
in fizz hicks of time – witnessed first hand proof positive
how I came that close (pinch thumb with index finger)

simian snack aye haint fool’n witch cha,
nar doth this medieval troubadour –
spin a yarn approximating
verity of nasty Hobbesian brute

trumpeting fiercely bruited
his bombastic buzz hard
carrion feed small fry to Golgotha donning topface,
could dice in a flickr emulate, and twitter

rang one excited live hotmail riding Pegasus,
while those in his Isis Petsmart warpath
on outlook to avoid get linkedin,
per imp (of the pervert) pale’n maws

simultaneously masticating and able to shutterfly
hither and yon, to and fro rousing
seditious twittering rogues gallery
of reprobate ruthless minions -

ruminants to become  apprenticed
fired up en mass thru the art of the deal
vis a vis venal pet peeves
pygmy male hominids revered
his racially stirred debacle

while straddling as a humungous towering hill,
he pill or reedlike lex Lucifer usurpation,
whence auld dish diehard don nah sore
dominated as demented species,

thus, he didst not perish from this earth
boot yielded rubric of emperor by the peep hole,
four the pea pull, of the peep pill.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
This older ville lad spurs rumor -
more than just food for thought or eating crow
does generate quite a wishful after thought to flow
whence sum divine

wind blown comedic act, an inflow
of furies rise from Dante's hell - don bell low
aye wood pine fate to hammer
sic culled swathed headline oh
brings joy to the world wide webbed land,

where Rob zombie i.e. Ivan Ca Rho
into dustbin of hiss tory;
stuffing of legions of legends
recollection and object lesson to hooligans woe
full derelicts, who might be forced
to cease clowning around like - bo Zoë.
Diane Jul 2014
not every poem is about beauty
too caught we are in the moment to write about it
that is what makes it beautiful
pain clings long beyond instants
prolongs and window reflections
engulfing our bones
masticating our stomachs
from slow drip bile coffeemakers in our chest
the line from that one song starts the burning
and the eyes of a stranger flavored with reminders
i wish i could tell him i finally got to ____
my blood is chunked with tomato slices
acidic clots and stagnant passions
float me in melancholy perplexities
a minute of oddity where emotions
are unidentifiable
Terry Collett Jan 2013
People build their own prisons,
she said, build up their own walls.
He said nothing, knowing not
what to say. He liked just that

she spoke, her voice, the tone
and timbre of it. As she spoke he
watched her lips move, the way
her tongue danced inside her mouth,

upon teeth. Mental wards are full
of people who have totally entombed
themselves, she added, placing one
of the sandwiches she’d bought

inside her mouth, while she spoke.
The park bench was hard, there
was a smell of spring in the air,
he watched her chew, now silent,

her mouth closed, masticating.
Her silence drew his attention to
the way she sat, one leg crossed over
the other, the black shoe and foot

dangling. The lower length of stockinged
leg, showing, the dark skirt just over
the knee, nothing else to see. He lifted
his gaze to her cloth hidden thighs,

the way they disappeared into her
waist, slim, drawn in. Ones I used to
see on my tour of the wards had drooling
mouths and cross eyes, she said,

swallowing the small sandwich bits.
He moved his eyes from her waist to
her impressive ****, let his eyes settle,
rested them there, as if they were weary

travellers after a long journey.  And the
smell, she added, reeked of *****; everywhere
one put one’s nose. He wanted to lay his
head between or upon or even beneath

those beautiful *******. She jawed on, he
wasn’t listening anymore, he was engrossed
in a different story, an actor in a different play.
She took another sandwich and was silent

again, staring at him, taking his measure,
unaware, no doubt, of his silent pleasure.
Jon Tobias Apr 2012
To the simple minded man
This day would have been like the rest

Would have been an overdone steak dinner
Alone

But he plays a broken bone remix
Of ex-lover’s gritted teeth

It is the click in his jaw over steak
That reminds him of the gnashing

He nurses a beer
In between helpings

But there’s always the click
A painful metronome
For past music
When he was capable of lapping the language out of her mouth

Days when he was all noise
Like a hallway echo
Or a fist through drywall
Or a nightmare gasp

But now all he needs is the cotton he eats
To soak up the sound

So he won’t have to listen to himself keep sayin’

There used to be this growl my gut made
For your bitter music
When we choreographed a collision
Of bone
And breath
And teeth that touched when I still thought I wasn’t pressing hard enough

The masticating click
Reminds him of her smile

It hurts his jaw
And his memory
But he continues making her painful sound
Like it might actually bring her back

And it does a little
Just for today

And tomorrow?

Tomorrow is too far away
First lines donated by Rafael Manrique. It is national poetry writing month. That means 1 poem a day for the entire month. I am going to try and make as many as I can First Line, or thanks to lp, Last Line poems. Wish me luck! If you wanna try, check out http://www.napowrimo.net/
Marshal Gebbie Feb 2011
Stimulated by Neva's lovely verse "Layers of Faces"

Phasing from the pockmarked scowl
Of urchin from  the pauper's keep,
To fresh complexioned beauty
As she prepares herself for sleep.
Plunging to absurd
Amidst a paroxysm of mirth
With heaving breath and yellow teeth
Atop substantial girth.
A vacancy of shock
Within two eyes of palest blue
Who witnessed a young fledgling killed
By the cat who lives with you.
Dribbles from a masticating jaw
begin to dry
And a sudden bark of anger
causes feeding birds to fly.
A smile as warm as sunshine
Brings the pherimones to bear
And the young and the beautiful
Both magnetically stare.
There's a fan dance of faces
Stretched across the prosaic
And the layers within layers
Etch it all a rich mosaic.


Marshalg
Victoria Park Tunnel
22 February 2011
David Barr Jan 2014
Having borne witness to the attachment of wires around lunar geographical parameters, I am curious about the voltage limits of electric chicken.
In its southern-fried condition, I now draw your attention to celebratory flutterings around the Maypole whilst masticating upon ancient crop circles.
Apollo may be affiliated with Grecian mythological ancestry, but I have found harmony within the branches of dendrology.
As the seas of our sovereign forefathers cry aloud from palaeolithic runways, a multitude of timeless deities cluck amidst the hay of eclectic Kentucky.
It is only one minute to midnight.
We must depart now.
PK Wakefield Sep 2010
what,s beauty?shorn and tousled follicles.a b
-owlfilled with hushed buzzing electric teeth
masticating her hair fleetly. a soft waste deposited
in porcelain silent whiteness; a crevice kindly hard
to pertain the sheering

and rough gently her bobble i clutch and rub
its skein
the jostle gritty stubble rumbles contended
under my hands
but remains an onyx shock twaining sweetly
you
i love you
my                 little              valkyrie; scream
Charlie Prince Jul 2012
I think I'm pretty hot ****,
most of the time.

Humility has it's place,
and it's place is in the podium.
Used to meter smiles and sighs and double talk,
with hopes to fill the ballot box.

See,
the heretics will tell you,
"You have so much more than we,
share a bit. Especially with me."
**** those ******.

I don't fall for
concerned,
condemned,
condescending
conspirators
of the big philanthropist in the sky.

Intimidating,
masticating,
wishy washy,
woe-is-me,
cross carrying,
brother burying,
evangelical,
superintendents
of self-deprecation.

Where does my wealth of mental health come from?

I take pleasure in peace, that is to say,
the lack of both pleasure and pain.
And yes, I feel I get "It" with a capital I.
Because, you see, there is no "Why"
only I and I.

These eyes have seen 22 calendar years,
through bouts of laughter and selfish tears,
but these eyes have the years behind
the comprehension of Your minds.

I am older than time.
I am younger than those yet to be born.
I have had the wealth that comes with scorn.
I have thrown my back out beating corn.
I've had lover's lost, and love retained.
I've dissolved my brain, yet remained sane.
Every song, every people,
Every plant, stone, stick, or bone,
sceptre, crown, yoni, or throne,
are composed by moi so apropos.

You
are all deluded to deduce separation from each other.
You have spent lifetimes slaying the Other.
But then, again, so have I.

Sin is separation. To feel the disconnect,
whether by sense or intellect,
is to lose yourself within your
Self.

When the I is so infinite, what need is there to share?

Teach a man to fish...
Grant him his wish.
We are all we need to be.
"I" is all you need to be

Take this moment as it is.
Don't ask permission.
Don't apologize.
It's your right to breathe
It in.

It's your right to take that step outside your comfort zone
and wander off into the unknown on a whim.
Helen Mar 2012
she wakes to an empty bed
he's left in the early morning
to work, she shivers with regret
He calls at 9am and they exchange
pleasantries. He sighs as the phone
disconnects while she hangs up
hesitantly. Was there more to be said?
He sits in a morose world on the
internet in the afternoons where
he waits for her to come home from
work. He's all alone with his memories
and he dreams of scenarios that
might possibly become reality
if he can convince her that he's
sincere. But shes not there...
Evening meals are a lesson in silence
in the awkwardness of masticating
images that could be dreams or
nightmares, she doesn't care, he
is there...
******* in the dark, in stealth
making sure the rustle of clothing
leaving the body is no indication
of an invitation they awkwardly
brush against each other, creating
friction, gauging reaction, not really
ever wanting to engage in carnality
just basically giving each other
the time of day and the illusion
of Love and a Yes please but
No thanks, not tonight
just another day...
The coffee is cold as it sits acting
like a looking glass for a stare
deep inside the darkness might
be someone who cares but over
the breakfast table on a weekend
morning, the divide is yawning
and there is a weakness to the
futilely uttered
"Good Morning"
betterdays Apr 2015
musing on pondering,

cogitating on ruminating,

postulating on speculating,

considering multiple theories,

deeming the discrepancies deniable

positing the petty presumptions,

theorizing multiple condsiderations,

apraising the mediations,

digesting the deliberations,

allowing for freefall meditation,

envisioning the expectations,

presuming the pontifications,

anticipating the asumptions,

comprehending the conclusion,

accrediting the rationalizations,

concluding the comprehesion,

spinning synaptic wheels,

hypothesizing the conjecture,

recollecting of the reminiscence,

adumbrating the prognostigcation,

concocting of the subliminate,

masticating on the cereberal machinations,

of the ocillations, in the agitatation,
apparent,
in an insomniac's maniacal brain,

reckoning not,
on the simple summation,
of the night's wayward,
mental arbitratration,


there is... just too much time,
to think....

and far too little time to write....
expose of free verse style...
a'la betterdays.....lol
Jonathan Witte Oct 2016
Do you see me?

I’ve been devouring poetry,
by the line,
by the page,
by the book.
No poem has been overlooked.

I’ve been feasting
on free verse,
blank verse,
perverse
cascades
of stanzas and rhymes,
a banquet of words
on which to dine.

I’ve been swallowing ad nauseam,
scarfing down similes,
masticating metaphors,
gormandizing poems aplenty.

Rhyming couplets,
I’ve contained them.
Sonnets and epics,
ingested.
Lyrical odes,
digested.
A thousand lines
to make you swoon.
I’ve tasted them all—
the potent and
the picayune.
Villanelles, check.
Sestinas too.
I even hiccupped
my own haiku:

          Icicles melt on glazed gutters.
          Water drips, prolific, bits of sunlit seeds
          promising lilacs below the eaves.

Do you see me*?

I hate to ask, but I’m afraid
something poetic has happened.

my head is a tureen
brimming with stars
my arms are utensils
in a darkened drawer
my chest, a room of last resort
my feet are stressed, in short

Such prosody is blinding.

Can you tell me why
my eyes are bleak?
Or why I no longer
blink?

I sense the sear of fluent tears
composing on my cheek:
endless drops, black beads,
consumptive stains of ink.
ipoet Jan 2013
747
He is munching on nuts,
vigorously,

Utilising the muscles he has.

He has wonderful eyes,
Hawk eyes,

Wide set and is,
Now eating a banana with a plastic spoon.

We both have motioned for a waiter.

He is masticating on a blob of Almond paste that he,
Has scooped from the glass jar in the,

Center of the table, by the ash tray
With his *******,

Nibbling like a squirrel,

And there is something askew,
As he rushes,

To the aid of a woman carrying,
Four heavy bags.

He leaves his own where it is,
Unattended.

I wonder if he’s on drugs, or
Just a tourist,

High on Africa,
A white man free to do as he pleases,

But I am a black man preparing to fly, and
Have been informed about bags,

Left unattended.
ms reluctance Apr 2019
Certain sounds used to bother me.

Human noises like people breathing drove me crazy – it didn’t have to be a wheeze, a rasp or a rattle. It remained a battle to ignore the everyday sound of normal breathing, indecipherable, barely a decibel.

Another peeve, of course, was people eating, the cacophony of masticating – I flinched as I heard them chomp, crunch, chew, and munch. I recoiled in distaste as they audibly swallowed their lunch.

I didn’t understand why I found the innocent sound of a faucet dripping so irritating. I felt like a monster because I couldn’t control the flash of anger when I heard someone drumming their fingers, tapping their feet.

One word saved me from the lunacy of self-loathing – misophonia – a name for my malady.

I don’t know what it is about labels that turns your torments into traits. Labels are the leash you use to control your troubles. Ever since I discovered I am misophonic, mundane sounds, while still annoying, no longer overwhelm me.
NaPoWriMo Day 24
Poetry form: Prose
The Fire Burns Sep 2016
The voices in my head
chewing up my brain
consuming what is me
and driving me insane

The predators pursue me
I run to stay away
but eventually they catch me
I'm their favorite prey

My own worst enemy
is always deep inside
self doubt and deprecation
masticating on my pride

I have no more self esteem
it's like I have been ******
pounded, tenderizing me
nothing left but bones

Simply a skeleton left
of my former self
I have destroyed all of me
through the loss of mental health
based on Starsets carnivore
drumhound Mar 2017
You chase me with a word
like a bratty brother
chases a little sister
with a cricket
holding the legs of intimidation
near my ear
taunting
as you have done
many times before -
sometimes with a cricket of inferiority
or a cricket of slavery
but always a cricket of judgement.
You portend to have the power
to put it on me
until the tear in my eye
becomes enough....  

My teeth gnash
wrapping around the finger that dangled
the last cricket of taunting,     
a pest of manipulation,
held with your insect-filled arrogance    
and I chew defiantly
masticating your ability
to ever chase me again.
Choose it now
swallow or spit
it's irrelevant -
your threats are dead.
Sometimes the best thing we can do is snap.
Dennis Willis Jan 2019
Either I
Or the day
Came crinkle cut

More
Surface

Area
Than
Smooth
Cut

I digress
Into those
Crispy crevices

Catchers
Of salt
And seasoning

Do you mix
Well
Do you

A crunchy
Verticy
Submits

Masticating
To great
Satisfaction

This
Fryn'
Day



Copyright@2019 Dennis Willis
Gigi Tiji Mar 2015
a humanoid figure
solemnly sits
shiny skin
shimmerin'
breathing
through slits

clad all in leather they
engulf creaky chairs
'pon which they slobber
exploding in laughter
viscous shrapnel splatters
all four corners of my headspace
deep space dead head exploded and teeth tumbling
masticating time

stumbling
emaciated efforts

the frail skeleton saunters
as bones of driftwood sing
essences of the ocean

slimy skin once taught
now slips like time as
feet of crow and bodies
reach for the earth

a pocket watch screams to a stop
black lace veils drape all the faces of the mourning universe
betterdays Mar 2014
musing on pondering,

cogitating on ruminating,

postulating on speculating,

considering multiple theories,

deeming the discrepancies deniable

positing the petty presumptions,

theorizing multiple condsiderations,

apraising the mediations,

digesting the deliberation,

allowing for  freefall meditation,

envisioning the expectations,

presuming the pontifications,

anticipating the asumptions,

comprehending the conclusion,

accrediting the rationalizations,

concluding the comprehesion,

spinning synaptic wheels,

hypothesizing the conjecture,

recollecting of the reminiscence,

adumbrating the prognostigcation,

concocting of the subliminate,

masticating on the cereberal machinations, of the ocillations,
in the agitatation, apparent in insomniac's maniacal  brain,

reckoning not,
                   on the simple summation,
of the  night's  wayward,
                       mental arbitratration,
i have way too much time
                                          to think...
just a little wordplay for an
overwrought brain.
Heed tetchy static, roving around McArthur.
I can feel the steady impulse breed flaxen flumine.
   Songs tumble notes as ladies sing blunt-mouthed tune.
You croon with them, mindless of the force that tries
  to break free past the console. Your voice is analogous
     to reticence. I hear nothing, feel everything underneath the lazy glow
of the sign that says Yield plastered to a decrepit signage past the
        posh city buoys of Jupiter. Everything comes to a halt
in the remote red light district. Somewhere behind those thick walls
   that enshroud the fumes of tantric body heat, I can feel the ground
    stop in that disconsolate delineation: morose and encumbered,
    outnumbered by the cognoscenti that filled the streets unwilling
  to give us directions to whereabouts we rarely have knowledge of.
   cigarettes rammed deep within their mouths, masticating the cloud
     of nicotine as though it were tender meat, I hear the radio go
      ballistic past the sign now that reads Exit.
Ace Malarky Dec 2017
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beat

2

heart beat

3

spread over sky

5

all light and all dark

8

the new clarity, the everything of time, gestalt

13

human arrogance absolved by totality, evil and good, beauty and horror as one

21

can stay in ecstasy forever, but delight is tainted by the shiver of being, the ahead, the beginning, cannot escape time

34

not above, not outside, for a beat spread like oil on still water, a bit of myself touching everything, not quite joining it but poised to, should my nature change, should I be untethered

55

and better, my slick still expanding, the reach of vision yet to ******, the stories, the rub, I drink an elixir of perfect euphoria, I spit the dross of man's burden though a residue remains, an echo of flavor on my tongue, each century a tastebud wet with consciousness, my mind a mouth, masticating experience

89

wonder at the limitless, can I be deceived when I know all truth and can speak eons of knowledge in a word? When I can conceive of every motion an atom's atom can make and every motion thereafter, the every story that grew me to my lofty sojourn among galaxies that I can hold in my light-year hands? What force can challenge me, the ascended begun to break in my throne of stars? I would deign to challenge gods if they were not few, weak and far between

144

play, a heart beat, celebration that I Am, the starlight eyes of grateful souls rejoice. Immortal muse of laughter, my reflection on the glassy sea. An ache I don't remember having passes, an unnamed need is met. Mother berth of reason, whole beget a whole, I saw it all inside a bubble, WHAT eclipsed by KNOW. The tear, the tear, the weeping jest, labor, love, solitary kiss, voluntary shiver. Breadth of color, sound and smell, success, respite, despair. Esoteric afterthought, answers to forgotten questions, illuminate retroscape on which to dance, play, play for all eternity. All is humor, even war, the spent and wasted youth, the murdered and abused, to **** is to set free; suffering yields to bliss at the end of life. Sudden, the limit of exaltation. My hand passes through, I cannot rewrite the rules. I cannot pierce the veil.

89

I knew. Has every peak a valley? asked, answered as My City dimmed its lights. Retreat, retreat, recede, severed synapse secrete silence, destroyed, dead, decay, decrepit, detritus, demon, demon, demon, demon, demon, demon feel the flesh where I hadn't none before, but anguish betrays truth, the reality of right now is pain. Bits crushed by imagination. Frothing alchemy of mud and water, slime and earth combine. Rays beat chapped and charring soil, germinate the mine. Its bend and bow its grave concave rolling man together

55

hag she cackle, ghoul he roar, flit, fly, I tremor, shake, defy. Build me bowels out, I breathe, what lungs have I? Fester unwhole word I strain my grind to cry. Yes, friction, worldly choose, fragments shatter in reverse, Appeasing hunger, dousing flame. Whine of anguish slow subside but I still feel it burn inside

34

oh sweet water, you again, I want to need you, I want to eat, to ****, to die. Enslave, okay free me from this wretched bliss, drain the bottomless ocean and cut short eternity

21

waking rest it wait, soon I walk again. Fear its taste, embrace the waist and kiss the face of chaste

13

human ignorance evolved by fatality, good, evil, beauty, horror each in its way

8

the old blur, the brokenness of my perspective

5

light and dark at war

3

again at war

2

heart beat

1

beat

1

beat

0
It’s hard to be taken away by thought
A predecessor heir to life chapters
embracing facts all at once

Facing the enormous glutton
masticating a heart
like a licorice treat

Wasting away
Wasting away
Wasting away

The madness is gone yet
I felt like I haven’t
been here before
the times went
from good to
bad

It seems we are all
like arms; weary
of holding still
in front of
the never
ending
slog

We kiss and we hug
until we’re
tempted to
bite one
another

We wished for an adventure
from the howling of the
cold rainy wind inside
a tavern where we
thought all will
be cozy until
everything
comes
back
to

normal

to almost succumbing to the heaviest
darkness that we ever felt deep
inside our heaviest breaths
like it’s a couple of our
last ones

You are a warrior, capable
of thinking above as you
see through many and I
will tell you the secret
that was there for a
very long time:

Never lose your grip for
the best people who
ever walked the
preliminaries
of hell all fell
down to
hell.
Chris Saitta Jun 2020
Says the soldier to his love,
When he holds her handful of fantasy
That itself recalls holy wine and bread,
The blood seeps into his own hands is all.

Says the soldier to his love when he crawls
To impotence of mud and stone sediments
That augur not a fleshen but a fossil birth,
Like the bone of the once-masticating jaw.

Said the soldier to his love, when he fell face first
Into the nuptials of lily, delphinium, and dark earth,
I only wish to be the petals for your wedding, my love...
Joseph Rice Dec 2019
The you and I
In my future bides time
For my dreams to combine
And put you before my gray eyes.

Beautiful light clashes with my ugly darkness
Eradicating the masticating thoughts of rejection

Smile at me please
Maybe my frozen stone heart will unfreeze
Creepstar Jan 2016
I'm sick of all the wanting, waiting
Of this life,its frustrating
Thoughts of death,self masticating
Emotions I shall be castrating

Have no form of self worth
To myself I am furth
Where is choice to unbirth?
Leave behind wretched earth
Andrew Rueter Sep 2021
Kindred transformation
correlates experience
to my canidae companion
life is a pit bull husky mix
loyal roamer fierce friend
running through thorn bushes
in the hushed hilly countryside
unaware of speeding cars
and demonic dog catchers
populating the arachnid cityscape.

I chase a rabbit to said city
keeping my dog head with me
so I can only see in black and white
a transformative color palette
allowing an allowance for my breed
to take the maximum instead of its needs.
A dastardly deal is done in daylight
for spiders to be dogs
and dogs, spiders
splitting spoils
of both species syndicating society
by painfully punishing unfamiliar families.

Four legged frenzy in my feet fortifies me
from eight legged monsters in the street
slinging webs of concrete—
a wanderer's kennel terrifying terrarium
trapping wasps and butterflies
masticating maliciously
reproducing rapidly
trap door spiders create black widows
and envelope stray dogs in white cloaks.

My vigilance guides serpentine movement
strafing from treacherous entanglement
of the tarantula treaty offering silk
cocoons claimed to be for safety
at the price of my mobility.

I must return to the warm
glow that helps me see
even if that means
crawling through the sewers
and eating from the trash
to emerge from the thorn bushes
that tear off my jackal costume
as the sun cleanses my wounds
uncovering cloud counting capability
accumulating cumulus compatriots
and oak marchers waving green flags
showing they can prosper with tranquility
but these flags draw insects that eat contentedly
until there's enough ingesting in sects to draw spiders.
AF Sep 2020
air on my limbs
as a i reach out to
clean my windows
i cried,
masticating is coping for me.
i felt like i didn't
deserve your touch
or kindness
grateful yet bewildered,
content yet upset.
you saw through
my windows, the massive
buildings take up space and time as
my transparency became
known to you
i wrote this last year about my ex-boyfriend, i tend to fall head over heels quickly but whoever reads this, i hope you enjoy
jordan Dec 2019
mud
boulder blood birth
sheep stomped ****
dying dead debris
haven habitat home
friendly feeding full
planet populace plenty
mutually mothering masticating
Shobhit Feb 2018
The table is ready
with boats of my delicacy
I apologize for the burnt,
for my blunt efficacy.  

it was not easy
to carve me-self inside-out,
serve you shame for starters
with deeply fried doubts.

You will find them fulfilling
coz of all the grease
but,save your appetite
for a lot more to come at ease.

I see your eyes wide open
and you drooling like a hound,
guessing what will come next,
will it be my roasted rebound?

or perhaps, maybe you are on a diet
and wanna have something light tonight
like Some salad of my malady,
or a cobbler filled with berries of my plight.

Yeah, I see the drops of apathy
as you feast on my saucy loss
Not even masticating with your conscience,
just Washing down with La’poor wine you brought.

With that last morsel,
I am out of all the sizzling regrets,  
all the smokey condemnations,
all the crunchy identity threats.

While you burp out your utter respect,
your voice is all freaked up,
you so excited in fact.    
coz what I just fed you,
you wanted it so bad,
now you got enough munchies
for your homies, your lads.

but you my boy, don’t you leave
without the souffle and the cake
one is stuffed with my imagination
and other have frostings of my self-respect
of which, you have got none,
for you were my guest.
For all the sadists in your life
Twinkle Rawat Oct 2018
Just read my favorite Novel,
To a buffalo.
She seemed to listen
With those weary eyes, meeting mine
Every now and then.
Her ears wide open,
Fluttering,
To foil the efforts of distractors.

And in between she responded with a sigh,
While casually,
Yet elegantly masticating her lush green lunch.
And at times, she flashed her whites,
Those natural pearl whites, that acquired their sheen out of nowhere!

Then I watch her turn away from me,
Oh! Lightening flash! Before my eyes,
A whip! Across my face!
Her snake-like rear!
What a clear indicator of her fondness for my Novel!

And finally she flopped down into her space,
Rested like never before.
I've never seen a creature more exhausted.

An enlightenment I felt, after that whip,
A realization of the zero net effect
On the poor creature,
Compelling me to recollect,
Those beautiful Novels, I've tried reading to other such buffaloes,
Sheer repentance,
Yet a lesson in disguise.

And as I walk back with my Novel,
I meet another such buffalo,
All excited to listen to my Novel,
With those weary eyes.
But this time I crossed her,
In search of a **** sapien sapien,
And the search goes on and on...
wordvango Oct 2020
The conscience food
Masticating
Flesh
Blood the essence
A tender fragrance
Wafting through nose
To
Tastebuds fornication  
Mouth
watering
Pure decadence
Involving dissolving gnashing
Evolving
Each bite  
tiny pieces 
 spittle
Veins gristle sinew
Go
Down
The drain
Must live be vapid enormous
The most ravenous
Survival is a thing
And the menu
plain
Oh flibbertigibbet
****, heil (Stuart Little) let mice
self down dagnabbit,
no matter this lactose intolerant,

conscientious, consumer and avowed kit
and caboodle - ***** vegetarian,
who lacked true grit,
cuz he craved a ham, rabbit

and cheese sandwich that hit
the bunny phone
spot (courtesy pit
tickle yule lee
     of The Daily Bread

Community Food Pantry sit
chew waited at 3938 Ridge Pike
    Collegeville, Pennsylvania 19426)
aye red deli admit
to fear with some darkly knit

shadow of a doubt reddit
lee, about being a boot
being smidgen afrit
of some powerful jinn crit
ture, demon, nor banshee

     making mincemeat out of me
     (Matthew Scott Harris),
whom now wants
to make quick exit
(and if fye sprouted

wings, would flit)
cuz, yours truly did coe vit
an insatiable app pit
tight carnivorous consumption
     where a craving awoke

like an addict hood needs a hit
ma tastebuds writhed with a bit
of minor seizure to let
me dentures bite to edit
mas exclusion of meat, and savor

     mouth watering satisfaction
as if masticating an illicit
substance, and all the while
     my awareness sans unethical
treatment of animals

went out figurative window
a disc credit
tummy sympathy for
     hogtied eggs eck rubble mitt
treatment steer

     ring agri business
to the mighty dollar,
     where die hard
slaughter houses will never quit!
Amanda Powell Jun 2020
Why do things we can’t eat still leave a taste for us?
After a meal, I keep tasting as the fork in my mouth leads to forking with you
The sweetness of marinating on the little things, the words once spoken
Kneading ourselves, hoping to grow into more

My insecurities gave you a sour look on your face,
Like you would spit me out, if you could, and try a different recipe
Lying awake I would chew on my thoughts, masticating until they resembled fears
Reasons to leave, not many to stay, indigestible truths we weren't able to swallow

Curdled plans that won’t come together,
Requests turned resentments,
Reheated arguments and palatable remorse
Finishing my plate but never fully satiated

Feelings and taste become scrambled together
I’m bitter about the lost time, your chair always empty
I’m reduced to a shell of myself, making meals for one but wishing to yield more
It all leaves a bad aftertaste as the tongue recoils and begs for a chaser

Amanda Powell
May 21st, 2020

— The End —