"metabolic" poems
Somehow your heart enzymes inveigled a way into my system
I surmise it was your energising tongue which smuggled them in
my pseudoanaphylactic longing to snuggle in vein against your protein
its aim a happy interaction tugged by frenzied polypeptide chains
when your petite triglycerides coil avidly around my pH changes
hydrolysis replenishes steroids to stop any pleasure level plunge
so that functional-group transfers may intervene at all active sites
supervising where coenzymes await love's coursing stem cell sights
that photosynthesise my eyes to sensitise to you despite the dark
dancing in all my living cells with infectious smiles an epidemic
when your DNA can't polymerase enough of the audacious lipids
pleasing as they kiss the density away of fatty acids on soft lips
that release protease inhibitors in ways not too selective
so our hearts find their metabolic pathway audaciously live
and offer themselves completely to a frolic in love reactive
Jul 28, 2014
Jul 28, 2014 at 12:06 PM UTC
Determine meaning of toxic
probe quantity of goodness required
to cease metabolic function
Give space to inspections
of remaining affect-reserves
Adjust interior humidity
to +/- decency
Console yourself.
Feb 16, 2015
Feb 16, 2015 at 1:28 PM UTC
Enzymes directing life force through biochemical processes - nutrients from bountiful soil fusing metabolic, synchronic pulsations and creating existential tonic
Developing a constellation of ideas; a symphony of fresh and innovative designs oscillating between various meditative and educative representations at increasingly high, metaphysical levels of vibration.
Nov 9, 2014
Nov 9, 2014 at 11:51 AM UTC
Never stand still.
Move in a direction.
Even if you crash or fall.
Take an exit and get lost.
There is something happening
Inside your veins.
Adrenaline, blood, and
Metabolic energy
Fight or flight
Response toward
Gravity…
Spin against
The earth
Become your
Own rotation
Agitate and race.
Be anything but stable.
© Ben Ditmars 2014
Jun 29, 2014
Jun 29, 2014 at 10:14 PM UTC
From a tiny seed,
Cultivated on the vine.
You fed hedonistic need,
Turning grapes into wine.
Sun-ripened botanicals,
Coated with white snow,
Reactive chemicals,
Delicious moscato.
Metabolic complexity,
Antioxidant neveau,
Oxygenic activity,
Bubbly pinot grigio.
Crisp and refreshing,
Cheeks become sanguine.
Acidic and effervescing,
Behold, fruit into wine
1/17/2016
Jan 17, 2016
Jan 17, 2016 at 4:25 PM UTC
Ideally,
9am
I would wake up and weigh myself.
Hopefully have gone down a pound.
I would have a 16oz cup of mint tea, maybe green to boost my metabolic rate.
No sugar, of course.
Maybe a handful of grapes, 60.
10a
Breathe in the morning air and stretch, feel my ribs, my hip bones, my chest and collar bones.
10:30a
Put on my workout clothes and go for a morning run.
1,
2, 3, 4,
5, 6, 7 miles.
11:15a
Drink a big cup of water.
Take a cold shower, it burns calories quicker.
11:45a
Have lunch.
Lettuce, 5
Tomatoes, 22
Cucumber, 8
Dressing, 120
Cut that in half. 60.
95 calories.
12:30p
Go out with my friends.
They tell me I have a perfect figure and should try on clothes with them.
"No, I don't really want to buy anything. I will just watch you guys try things on."
I start to become anxious because it's almost time for my afternoon workout.
3:15p
I throw my items onto my floor and jump into my workout clothes.
I run in the scorching heat, feeling like my lungs are going to collapse, panting and wheezing.
1, 2, 3, 4, 5 miles.
5p
Dinner.
Minestrone soup, 90
5:30p
Do some yoga stretching while watching some TV.
Drink diet coke and munch on sugar cubes.
8p
Final run of the day.
I must put on reflective gear because this is my longest run of the day and I will be out running late.
Okay. I got this. My legs feel weak and I am exhausted but I can do this. Slow pace. You got this.
1, 2, 3,
4, 5, 6
7, 8 miles
I collapse on my front lawn.
Panting, nearly feeling dead. But I did it.
Can't wait to do it all again tomorrow.
Aug 5, 2017
Aug 5, 2017 at 4:22 PM UTC
And I feel this sludge
running down the long halls of my legs
a flood of viscous petrol jelly
slick sewage sick
patrolling artery walls
this metallic slide
so much molten lava
running down the mountains
of my thighs.
I'm a concrete machine
getting my mortar fix
tin woman hollow heart
methyl folate ******
Give me another hit
buffer my pain.
Already I have diesel fuel juice
leeching out my tissues
lightning striking the brain.
It's hard to get your attention
with this leavening
pooling the blood in my feet
It's hard to say hello with
acid cuddled words.
I want to raise my arms
and touch you
but I'm too toxic I'll burn you.
This nausea has become me
this metabolic crash is
my stop-gap.
Short circuit pain
this neuropathy has hardened me
in the space between these synapses
I dream of nothing.
Doped up by the yellow stuff
Daddy sprays from the plane
I was a farmer's daughter but
the doctor says
You've got the mutant gene,
for heavy metal toxicity.
Another serotonin addict
with brains of saccharine and plastic
I might get a pink ribbon for surviving
if they call it disease,
but silently, inside
I feel this sludge
sick sewage slick
battening down the reflexes
backing up the pipes.
my body is the future body
I say.
because this deadly brigade
is eating up the human chain.
There were Chernobyl defects,
and the media loves lepers with lesions
but a blistered stillborn baby
is no face for nuclear policy
but we --we're the unsung mutant breed--
there are billions of us
mentally sick lazy fucks,
hypochondriacs
of pre-existing conditions
can't find work
not even at Walmart
for disability aid--
But when you check out,
please donate.
Drop another baby
in the cancer cup.
Aug 7, 2012
Aug 7, 2012 at 8:07 PM UTC
~
Corrosive elevation
Metabolic creation
At the mouth of cough drop falls
Trails of caustic, nomadic influence:
Coffee lips
Decaffeinated tongue
Resealable groove
Reusable embryo
White hunter
Melt snow
Hang fire
Black crow
Mechanical peak
Summit on a stick
Chiseled grey
The smoke ascending
They call "day"
Lovely shade of sadness, this
Wandering endocarp
Hidden in caves, hollows, crags, cellars, and cisterns
It came naked
From out of the acrid woods
And said
"The locust are upon us..."
~
Apr 3, 2022
Apr 3, 2022 at 1:50 PM UTC
Rice, Potatoes, Wheat and corn-
All starch and sugars, I contend.
They go right to your bottom line,
contributing to fat rear ends.
Those sugary drinks you gulp in gallons,
And all those meals you eat in haste-
Contribute to your lack of tone,
those rolls of fat about your waist.
Ancestors on arboreal plains
walked all day in search of meat.
We drive to the convenience store
to keep the weight off our sore feet.
Exercise some sort of will
And don’t resort to diet pills.
Eat lean protein, please don’t scoff
when your talking scale says “Please get off!”
Apr 14, 2012
Apr 14, 2012 at 5:14 PM UTC
There's a well of disappointment
In observing human nature,
For regardless of the colour,
The religion or the creed;
There's a metabolic failure
Apparent in the makeup,
And it's all about ego
And materialistic greed.
I see it in the corporate's
And the hallowed halls of banking,
It drips like grease from politics
And stains God's children too.
It permeates the populace
With a cloak of ashen pallor
And extends from Kings and Demigods
Through humanity to you.
And even little children
Are caught up in the maelstrom
Through television's fanfare
Of fashion and excess,
I feel tragedy unfolding
In our hedonist behaviour
I see brother clawing brother
And the future in distress.
Take a look around you
At the evidence of trouble
Observe the calamity
Of Wall Street's greed.
Feel the discomfort
Of intrusion by Government,
Feel the pain in the pocket
Of taxation's bleed.
The war drums are pounding
All over the planet
Greed and anxiety
Run hand in hand,
Corporate warmongers
Driving the politics
Flailing for more
As their empires expand.
What of the people?
We ordinary people,
Who invisibly strive
Insignificantly?
Pushed and shoved
Bought and bartered,
....In this tempest of greed
What chance have we?
Marshalg
On another sick, sick day.
@theBach
Mangere Bridge
12 February 2010
Feb 11, 2010
Feb 11, 2010 at 1:01 PM UTC
Our world is hell
We cannot deny
Disease lives amongst us
It thrives within each soul
Popping up with just a sigh
Once upon a time
Our world was much more calm
Our air was clean
Not infiltrated with so much pollution
Our wonderous knowledge
Told us we had to strive
Make it better!
Now look what we have done
Disease popping up
All over this nation
Fibromyalgia metabolic disorders
Cancer of many kinds
Cardiovascular disease
Diabetes, digestive disorders
Liver disease
The importance of nourishing the brain
Anthrax
Diet and recovery seem an impossibility
Osteoporsis
Dem bones: Do high protein diets cause bone loss
This could drive one insane
What is the cost
Insanity some find to be
The gravy train
Human knowledge may have turned
This world into hell
Pray death will bring
A clean slate
To this humanistic spell
Aug 22, 2017
Aug 22, 2017 at 2:35 PM UTC
i know nothing of you
but that you are anthropological
when you are inside unexplored diversities
that are not plums or peaches,
that you are a white siren with red nails
and that you want my knickers
sent enveloped, and sealed with
plastic cobalt kisses.
i know nothing of you
but that when they say poets are not in season;
you pluck me out lime-coloured and prematured
and tell me to ripen beside your afternoon tea
because you demand embryonic words
and pretty phrases that will keep you
animated and high.
you make me know not-
ions are unmarried clouds pregnant with ink;
yours are metabolic and invisible,
injecting sugar into my fallopian tubes.
you press your mouth against my sternum
and interweave your tongue with my heart,
we mould into a double helix.
you make us into nothing
but a genetically mutated flower
with two vulvas, collapsed between two pages
of a book that a ***** slapper would read
in the rain at two ams in between
****** acts and neon sunsets.
Nov 15, 2010
Nov 15, 2010 at 5:00 AM UTC
there is a sense of fluency
in his visual metamorphoses
framed in a diaphanous red
that isolates a consciousness
yet at the same time allows a journey
to ultimate extremes
of perfected enhancement
of the higher realization
of unfulfilling limitations
he knows that he can never be free
like a name in an address book
written in blue ceramics
that provides the impulse
to sensitizing thought
to the silence that walls him in
spiraling back in second hand decibels
overloaded with the complex distribution
of metabolic need
forms contradictory impulses
an index of vulnerable and invulnerability
like the familiar dissimilarity in his eyes
Feb 22, 2013
Feb 22, 2013 at 4:12 PM UTC
Sun does tickle his dreams on the blazing pave
when pass by him countless feet honking cars
fires don’t burn him nor do elements make him slave
upon him the street dirt is powdered stars.
In the luxurious cushions bed is a veritable thorn
sleep defers or visits not eyes’ awakened nightmare
men burn power to being breathing to the morn
while his eyelids at dreams’ wonder gapingly stare.
There’s a kingdom carved by him where gods don’t reign
a few picked crumbs magically brew metabolic bliss
fairies stir laughter misty angels wipe out pain
the moment his head the concretes kiss.
It isn’t hunger that in his deepest bowel gnaws
but a gratitude not battered by existential flaws
for being gifted a mind broke free sanity’s laws
be just there amid rush an island of pause.
May 2, 2015
May 2, 2015 at 1:20 PM UTC
There is garbage in and garbage out,
more of it stays in, leaves doubt,
what to think of life and there about,
the cost of msinformation
when you lay down your head for bed,
and your stomach is full, there is no dull lull
in the energy, inside see, oh there is a problem
the cost of winding down, the clock that
goes tick tock, ticktock, all night
as you glow in the dark, from metabolic sparks,
fitness hits every attribute of your life,
physical,
emotional,
spiritual,
social,
intellectual,
mental,
vocation, in no particular order,
adapt or become fossiled grizzle,
life will go on while you fizzle
out
of
existence,
It really is about knowing when you are full, and of what,
It really is about knowing when you are empty and need a refill,
of what won't make you ill kept, ill tempered, ill so others do not
keep, their distance... by the way
how are things in NYC to night? One week to go...till that Big Game
What about Australia and all points between,
and how is that other side of the Atlantic doing,
I won't go further than that because I have to riot,
and I am having one writing this.
©DWE012014
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 7:30 PM UTC
I fall apart
and they put me in a hospital
piece me togetherand
take my temp
they draw blood
inquire about my bowel movements
draw more blood
do more tests
Some hot shot doctor comes
speaks in tongues
Something about metabolic acidosis
My kidneys are not functioning well
My liver is not in the best shape
An idiot could have told me that
The problem is not in my abdomen
The problem is in my head
In my brain
In my mind
do more tests I cannot pay for
tell me something else I already know
transfer me to the psych ward
give me my own room
feed me more than I can eat
fatten me up
speak to me in low soft tones
I will startle
ask me questions for which
I have no answers
adjust my meds
try something new
get the same result
refuse to give me the one drug
that I know works wonders
The one that calms me down
The one that shuts off all the noise
I don't want it anyway
Drugs cannot fix me
Doctors cannot fix me
Thanks for trying
I can fix me
If I want to
Jun 7, 2013
Jun 7, 2013 at 5:21 PM UTC
I remember our Metabolic Engineering result,
Mass reappear.
The examiner scared the **** out of us,
****** examiner.
But I'm not more than disappointed,
I'm a fighter.
I love challenges,
Hard ones.
May 20, 2013
May 20, 2013 at 1:18 AM UTC
i find it bewildering
how western society
****** all the fat out
of certain edible products,
like yoghurt,
and by draining off
the fat replaced it with
excess sugar,
to then suddenly announce
that alcohol was a sugar,
what the ****
alcohol (EtOH - Et is a
chemical shortening of
the micro-carbohydrate chain
derived from ethane CH3-CH3 -
ethanol) is the single most perfect
calorie unit, even if impure due
to dilution: a standard bottle
of smirnoff ***** has a rubric:
50ml parallels 50kcal;
i don't know where journalists
got the idea that alcohol is
in the sugar category - minding the fact
that i don't use alcohol as a recreational
party dumbing drug (liquid ketamine),
instead using it for its medicinal qualities
of sedation - i find arguments concerning
it a bit of a red herring / far fetched -
i hate drinking with people, i drink on my own,
i find myself very conversational
albeit slurring my speech after a drink
with a library on my hunchback,
but if the conversation turns sour
and no one's laughing with me
i sober up and alcohol doesn't recognise
the soul, but becomes purely metabolic,
and that *****
Jan 20, 2016
Jan 20, 2016 at 12:45 PM UTC
With the special definition of Private Week
for private mathematics, the new INGLES; |
the INGLES, mosaic must be a member of
Yamampukichi's Red Monkey.
To write to the personal seeker,
write NARRRATTTORR MMER 1910 EYKIKI |
19 | | | | | | |
SOCIZES Markus Nell, code of Adolph Hushi Singh,
and Liberty and Olivia wanted to keep
the secret number of 'Emanuel D' of the nation -.
"When I came to
Wood for the action of Kishito" ... Jacob Saccramanto's solution
was a bad relationship with today's Granada and the Ladies
of Paula Killa. "This is red light," he said. . ... but I do not know
life, my friend said that "the first German company,
or those words ..."
and "... Easton pastor, gold, silver and hollow mo' gold" SMagda,
Fleming said 'Uganda, Eug-ra, Uganda , Uganda, Uganda,
Uganda, Uganda, Pierce, Pierce, Uganda - Uganda - The child
is born a father, a banker, 1919 100-100 is not well, said Wasa.
To request a red motor's grace from
the ammunicipator: Provider: A and B Scans, and Gregory,
and John, who are responsible for the work
of the mathematical units
and the most difficult to answer. Participants of Combat,
and the next Lindsay (barking) of Nell Mariner Akiki Sosise 19
and, for example, St. Gregory I Rigita Cornelius and Paul Russelli:
"FSNIO" of Yugen HTML readers of their song "In Pressure" to ...
Great Olivia Larcenaae Milkey Crissorgansen Grenadier,
William the "Red" in Germany, who is in Florence ... "..."
... an image of the summer, Alice Harcouss Keninisate Orophise;
Fleming Sea Zone According to the policy of "The honeys of gold,
two gold and Christians" is a day, "pirosporic ... ", "small"
miracles |
and metabolic yuan, found in time, and they are 100 |
and God PinanIza, Baki SacriAcid's Adult JMA is the first pipipina.
Jan 2, 2019
Jan 2, 2019 at 1:28 AM UTC
I don’t know why I like cheese
Maybe it’s the metabolic health
but I’m sure that everybody agrees
That some cheese is full of wealth
Maybe it’s the metabolic health
or maybe it’s the taste
That some cheese is full of wealth
but is not a waste
Or maybe it’s the taste
that makes it so great
but is not a waste
there is no debate
That makes it so great
a wonderful thing
there is no debate
it is the king
May 7, 2015
May 7, 2015 at 12:24 PM UTC
in a dark laboratory **** hospital
blood in the mouth
**** & **** thank you
bleeding milk cow
needle kissed
love enema
for a wild ***** monster in heat
***** of love
gnosis in action an anti path
fires of existence burning Sulphur
third eye bleeds light beyond existence
the left handed path
desire
the creative gone mad
after the liberation
comes the revolution of spirit
through sexualization
of the human world
a life beyond the ritualistic gesture
dissolution into the abyss
containing all
comingling the divine
and human spheres
devolutive
i consolidate my desires in her
addiction file
smoke
drink
****
die
and thank you very much
the flesh of god
"melts with the one who
creates him"
......
In a universe created by the separation of Void and Chaos you are your Flesh – העין שמאלית
....
Q.309 is the definitive rite of exit from ritual and separation; represents the code of access to metabolic energy flows that are cognitive tools.
The atomization of the rite, the rupture of the chain of being.
The ardor of prostitution (πορνεία) is intended to solicit the dynamic contraction of the Divine.
Aug 10, 2020
Aug 10, 2020 at 9:33 AM UTC
stranded, 10 a.m. and ahead
of me Salem, the great witch trials,
although not against hypnotising women
of great beauty, but against artists -
gone the hedonism of the 1960s
and the way the public revelled in
it as much as the artists - bog standard
ontology - you allow me to do my bit
i make you happy, done... next!
but no, not these days, everyone these
days demands toilet cubicle *******
sniffers to give you anything
decent art... honey... too much shame,
it was planted for a purpose, it has to be
smoked, drank, or sniffed... no point creating
an idea / ideal as the only escape route from
this massive **** vacuum with a few glittery
bits and pieces - you got to smash the piñata
somehow...
but yeah, the 5 p.m. metabolic rule (should
you have been exposed to a frequent
use of alcohol) - meaning i can't take it
after 5 p.m., i can binge on the x-files
(backlog of 6 episodes, yes, they're screening
the whole **** programme on spike),
prepare dinner (a stew with groats and a salad
on the side), but waiting longer for my
medical surrender to this great sedative is
that after i drink to reach a certain plateau
i can relax, read, write what i find...
i never understood art to have ever been written
without any sort of intoxication and sane...
unless of course you practice what René Magritte
did, and paint everything as if you had a *****
shoved up your *** (i.e. wearing a suit).
May 4, 2016
May 4, 2016 at 12:32 PM UTC