"mouthwash" poems
Three Minute Warning
A messenger delivers
A three minute warning
As I lay in bed at 10:30 am
(Resting in preparation for,
not from, our oops, early morning hike).
Breakfast will be ready in 3,
Get your **** in gear or else
It will be cold, I'll be mad,
And you will answer to a
Higher Authority.
No problem cause I already know
All I need is two.
Splash water on my face
Now I'm presentable
enough to the human race,
current company probably won't be happy,
But I ain't telling her, are you?
Shave! You crazed?
It is a three day weekend,
Every day a July Fourth,
Celebrating freedom from the European tyranny,
Of shaving smooth every day!
Splash water on my head, count with me,
Five brush strokes as you can plainly see
Is a classic case of overcompensating
In my geling n' hair stylin'
Brush my teeth, well,
I hope 2 full minutes of rinsing with CVS
Green stuff, mouthwash, will have to suffice.
Blast my deodorant both sides,
Long and strong, wearin' now
My bold blue *** husk of musk,
Cause I am a very considerate fellow
Who happens to really have stunk.
Clean T- shirt and shorts,
Yes, clean underwear too,
Leaves me a whole minute to write this scribble.
My flip flop noises coming down the hallway,
Are the butler announcing our joint arrival,
Me and my poem.
Lest you think this is paean to men
Another grand male boast,
Be advised this ditty be writty
By a man who, while no longer gritty,
Just put jelly on his scrambled eggs
And ketchup on his toast!
Mmmmmmm there might be a poem
Lurking in that too...
May 27, 2013
May 27, 2013 at 11:50 AM UTC
What colour are Mondays?
Red? Well mine are.
The same colour
you’d imagine a headache to be,
tomatoes, morello cherries
or like a nosebleed.
Does that mean Tuesdays are blue?
That mouthwash shade,
brain-freeze after a Slushie.
Wednesdays? Perhaps purpley-pink
as burning potassium,
Parma Violets under your tongue.
Thoughts on Thursdays? Fake-tanned,
tangerine skin, the ugliest orange
for the ugliest day.
But Fridays are a healthier green,
think telephone-pole celery,
cucumber truncheons and kiwis.
Saturdays then? Funeral black
speckled with brown sugar
though Sundays are white.
Hurts-your-eyes-like-snow white,
almost transparent, for they come
and dash by with no tone in-between.
Jan 13, 2014
Jan 13, 2014 at 2:31 PM UTC
Grime-caked fingers digging into
An infant’s innocent eye sockets
The chubby little **** shouldn’t be wearing that locket
No tears run their course down its soft, pink epidermis
But one could bottle up
The slightly thinning blood
Into a small
Thermos
I told that **** to get an abortion
My ******* ***** deserves better than her
I can’t stand the scent of baby lotion
I’ll go fishing with its flesh as lure
‘Cause I’m pro-choice
Yeah, I’m pro-choice
‘Cause I’m pro-choice
Yeah, I’m pro-choice
The wailing, ****** howl dies down
When the child’s trachea is crushed
By some hand-me-down, rusted hammer
That turns its body to mush
One could still see the baby’s frozen face
Open-mouthed and purple-blue
Spinning around the unwashed blender
With the previous night’s food
I told you to get a simple abortion
My ******* ***** deserves better than you
You better coat your putrid *** in baby lotion
And have some mouthwash ready, too
‘Cause I’m pro-choice
Yeah, I’m pro-choice
‘Cause I’m pro-choice
Yeah, I’m pro-choice
Mar 12, 2010
Mar 12, 2010 at 8:48 PM UTC
lick my face
toothpaste drips down my chin
my head is spinnin
squeeze my cheeks and kiss my teeth
you're the reason that they're clean
spit that mouthwash into me
so I can gargle minty sweet
It burns like **** but it kills all germs
I'll use the floss when it's not your turn
Final step: a glass of water
No more candy aaron carter
should we sleep or should we play?
I'll be the predator. you're the prey
we'll fuse our bodies like we're clay
nahhh forget it. not today
I'm fucking tired
Aug 19, 2014
Aug 19, 2014 at 3:28 AM UTC
As I strolled down Beaker Street
A neon sign flashed in front of me
That said "Only Serious Poets Need Apply"
(Blink) "Need Apply" (Blink) "Need Apply"
So it was I thought to myself
I can think of nobody else
As serious a poet as I
I looked to the right and the left
Feeling pretty confident about myself
And decided to take a gander inside
The room it was totally dark
In the corner was the tiniest of sparks
I did a stately poetic stroll in that direction
Feeling I might have made a mistake
This thought occurred a little too late
But of course this whole scene might just be window dressing
A voice said we don't need a poet at all
Just someone dumb and gullible
That's the moment in my pants I started messing
Turns out it was a mad scientist
With a masters degree in craziness
What were his dastardly plans I could only be guessing
I was grabbed by a couple of ugly thugs
Who highly dislike deodorant and mouthwash
Tied up and flown off to the smallest of islands
Where they did unspeakable experiments on me
In the first, second, and third degree
All because to insanity they took a liking
When it was they were finally done
With what those nut jobs consider good fun
Don't know how many walls they had me climbing
Daily now I plan my escape
I only hope that I'm not too late
When the opportunity arrives I hope I don't blow it
I find it so hard to believe
That this all has happened to little ole me
And Why?
Because of me being such a serious poet
Aug 15, 2018
Aug 15, 2018 at 3:02 PM UTC
She hides in pockets of flesh in my gums
I can taste her in the morning when I spit
at night I can feel her swimming in an ocean of mouthwash
In sleep she oozes onto my pillow
moistening the dusty fabric under my cheek
When shes really playful
she will wiggle herself into my cerebellum
and dance furiously with my dreams
or gently sing lullabies when my heart wont let me sleep
when the world and its filth have commandeered my hope
she is there to brush away the dirt with untarnished hands
she is my religion she is my ******
without her I am sick
a smoldering heat of black matter and fungi
she is antibacterial soap on my soul
Lysol wipes to my tarred lungs
with one whiff I am cleansed of debris
she saturates the oxygen in my blood
she resides in my abdomen
I can feel her in my kidneys.
Oct 8, 2011
Oct 8, 2011 at 5:08 PM UTC
Thank you sir, how would you like to pay, firing squad?
-- I beg your pardon?
Nice and quick sir, no mess, comes highly recommended.
Or there's the rotten cotton bungee jump, very popular with our younger customers.
Um, we offer an old fashioned duel with a chieftan tank, there's walking the plank,
And we've just started an in-house hang draw and quarter option with free head impalement.
Exceptional value that one, sir.
Now what else is there, there's the axe in the neck from the man with the hood,
The genuine guillotine experience, the short flight over the ocean with a sharp shove at 15000 feet,
Um, the drag naked through the streets by a crazed horse,...
--Is barclaycard acceptable?
Of course sir, I can offer you a complimentary snake bite with that sir.
--No thank you.
Ok sir, let me offer you this free bladder of wombat spittle mouthwash,
Special promotion till Friday, yours to enjoy.
--I'll take two.
Certainly, excellent sir.
--Is there a cheese shop in the neighbourhood?
Yes sir, finest in the district sir, but if I were you I wouldn't go there sir,
The man who runs it is a bit strange sir.
Apr 19, 2013
Apr 19, 2013 at 2:20 PM UTC
I don’t suppose
you remember
that day one December
when I scored a hat-trick
in the mouthwash-smeared hall
and thought I was Messi
for a couple of seconds
or when we went to the Tate
in about year eight
for a rare school-trip
with a gang of teachers
and we gawped at the art
like the cat next door
stalking a bird
or when my Dad said
that my uncle had expired
and I was on stage one night
with Joe’s coat of many colours
and wet veins on my face
for some reason
I didn’t get
Feb 3, 2014
Feb 3, 2014 at 4:41 PM UTC
Sometimes on the way out of Giant,
I'll spend some time freeing change
from the receipt-paper
bindle in my coat pocket
for one two-twist mystery prize
from a Folz machine.
Two quarters:
Enough for a sapphire ring and a cheap
laugh while I juggle coffee-cream cartons,
a sack of December oranges, Certs,
cinnamon mouthwash, a dented can
of green beans 'cause it's cheaper,
red toothpicks, Ziploc bags, a barbecue
chicken TV dinner, Noxzema, a 32-case
of Poland Spring water, a Valentine's
Hallmark card and envelope, a bottle
of pink grapefruit Perrier,
two quick picks for Cash 5,
gluten-free potato chips, garlic salt,
some cumin for $2.82, and a copy
of Vogue.
I strap my groceries in the passenger seat,
and see them sitting straight up as I had,
childishly marveling at the lush
maple leaves washing the windshield
edges in green, leaving helicopters
and dew trails.
She and I watched slug trails
beneath mustard streetlights glisten
like Berger Lake.
Bright as the last cigarette my grandma snuffed out in a smokeless ash tray.
Bright as the first line of road flares that separated me from a burning Taurus.
Bright as the quarter my grandpa gave me for the Folz machine in the Sylvania.
And bright as the emerald ring I showed him.
Feb 1, 2015
Feb 1, 2015 at 3:27 PM UTC
I woke up
to a nightcalm-shattering
cell phone ringtone.
"Can I come over, baby?"
"What time is it?"
"I don't know 3, 4."
**** eyes roll, sigh,"yeah I guess so."
"Don't sound too excited," Molly said, Molly laughed.
"Are you going to be long?"
"Nah, I'm already outside."
"Awesome. Okay, let me put on some pants."
I opened the door.
Her hair was up.
Her skin was the color of milk.
Her eyes were grey.
She held keys in the palm of her hand.
"I like your hair," Molly said, Molly laughed.
I said it was getting ridiculous,
she put her hands on my chest,
the tension in the tips of her fingers grew,
exploration, exploration.
"Do you want something to drink?"
"Nah, can we just sit on the couch?"
"Sure."
"How's your fella do-"
She kissed the words, to lock them in.
She started to tear at my shirt,
I stalled her advances,
turned the tables,
I'm done with being prey.
I pulled her up gracelessly,
I fell through her crimson shirt,
through her black bra,
I drank each ounce of her chest,
I grabbed her nape gracelessly,
her eyes briefly frightened,
turned sinister,
turned to validation,
turned to encouragement.
I mapped her stomach,
made quick work of her
cotton shorts,
I bit the waistline of
her lace,
she clung to my coagulated hair,
I laid her to the ground,
we warred atop notebooks and
***** t-shirts,
kissing vigorously in an attempt
to stay far ahead of morals, of reasoning.
I feasted on her hip bone,
she tugged at my shirt,
no,no,no.
I removed the lace with my teeth,
her breath was exciting,
I feasted on the insides of her thighs,
she convulsed,
cursed,
grabbed tight to shirt, to hair, to every piece of furniture near.
Molly's pupils, irises, all grew.
Molly's panting ******* moans all rose.
Howling.
Peaking, breaking, releasing, falling,
sighing,
sighing,
breathing.
I wiped my lips with the back of my arm,
got up,
went to the bathroom,
used some mouthwash,
Molly walked in behind me,
"Things have been going better with him, lately, actually."
"I'm ******* happy for you guys."
Sep 14, 2010
Sep 14, 2010 at 2:45 PM UTC
Every morning I wake up
I turn off my alarm
And in the dead silence, and pitch blackness,
I stare at the ceiling for a bit
As my eyes adjust to being awake
I just lay there. Thinking.
About life
About the hell of getting up
For all of about five minutes
Every morning I wake up
I get out of bed
I go to the bathroom
I splash some water on my face
I brush my teeth
I swirl around some mouthwash
I put on some deodorant
I brush my hair
I wash my face
I put on some face lotion
Every morning I wake up
I put on some warm clothes
I get a drink of water
I eat an apple or a banana or sometimes an orange
Every morning I wake up
I grab my backpack and put it on my bed
I put on my belt
I slip on my shoes
I wiggle into my coat
I get at least two decks of playing cards into my coat pocket
I get my wallet in my back pocket
I get my phone in my front pocket
I get my earbuds into my coat pocket
I get my pen into my inside coat pocket
I get my flashlight into my coat pocket
I get my hand driver tool into my pocket
I get my phone charger into my backpack
Every morning I wake up
I go through this routine
Without much thought anymore
It's natural to me
To do the same thing each and every morning
Every morning I wake up
Whether I want to or not
I lock up the dogs
I feed my turtle
I turn off all the lights
I walk out the door and lock it behind me
Every morning I wake up
I follow this routine
Step by step
Without fault
Every morning we all wake up
Even if we don't want to
Even if the only thing we want to do is just lie in bed
And not deal with today
Even if the only thing we want is just a couple more minutes of precious sleep
Just a little longer in the warmth of our blankets
Just a little longer not having to go through the true hell that is today
Just a little longer to be by ourselves
But we wake up
Every
Single
Morning
We wake up
We'll continue to wake up for the rest of our lives
Each and every morning.
I think that says something about us.
I think that shows just how resilient we really are
Every morning that we wake up
It's a big middle finger to all who say we can't do it
To anybody that says we aren't strong enough
Even if you're a weeping mess all day long
Even if you don't get your schoolwork done
Even if you aren't prepared to get up
You still do.
I still do
We all
Still
Do.
I think that's just incredible.
Feb 26, 2019
Feb 26, 2019 at 11:02 PM UTC
I heard the crow at dawn again.
It awoke me from a deep slumber.
As if to chastise me for not being up already.
There is so much to do, of course.
So I sat up on the edge of the bed.
And stretched up with my hands clasped.
The sun slowly creeping itself over the window ledge
And striking my eye just so...making me squint.
The crow called again.
I must not be fast enough for him.
I stand up with a half- hearted vigor
And rub my eyes.
I proceed with with my morning routine
Skipping the harsh mouthwash today.
Again the crow.
He hurries me as if I am racing a clock.
And makes my heart beat more prominently in my chest.
What an awful call a crow has.
Incessant and prodding.
I feel as if I am being yelled at and I don't deserve that.
I cross into the kitchen and reach over the door.
To the mount that holds my ol' Winchester.
I push open the squeaking screen door.
And step outside.
Again the crow calls but this time I am rallied.
I am too slow for him, am I?
We will see about that!
Jun 28, 2010
Jun 28, 2010 at 3:27 PM UTC
i can taste you,
on my tongue, in between the cracks
of my canines, saturated on my
peeling lips.
and i haven’t been able to keep food down.
you are in the pockets of cheeks,
and you taste like guilt, shame,
and so much greed. greed.
i have brushed my teeth over five times today,
used mouthwash until my eyes watered.
but you are thick,
and i’m swallowing, hoping it will dissolve.
May 30, 2013
May 30, 2013 at 9:07 PM UTC
you painted on my tongue
i can hear your gentle voice
wrapped around my jarring words
i tried to brush you away
drowned myself in mouthwash
tied a noose with floss,
but
you will never leave me
i am stained
i'll never know
the paintings i'd create
if i hadn't kissed you first
Jan 14, 2016
Jan 14, 2016 at 9:54 PM UTC
My lover of the night she was a biter,
what can I say I liked that way she
****** on parts other than my neck.
But I threw caution to the wind, I had
a cold, eating breaded mushrooms.
She was coming around as night fell.
Mouthwash not wanting my breath
to smell like the undead on her lips,
she is eternally flawless in moonlight.
I guide her downward towards my
stake, she can bite off more than she
chews, and then some more.
I tell her to take it in taking it all, but
then a scream as I expelled my life blood
as my fanged beauty turns to dust.
I wonder what happened no light or
garlic? then I read the empty wrapper
garlic mushrooms, this really *****
Apr 2, 2016
Apr 2, 2016 at 10:37 AM UTC
the heat is turning us into
*** crazed
hazed out junkies
looking for our next fix
of some kind of switch
that will turn our power
back on just so we can sleep
in a working refrigerator
long enough to remember
what winter feels like
until we get so numb we
start biting our lips until they bleed
pleading with the grinning dentist
to inject us with reverse freezing
we’ve all got a mouthful of cavities
with all the words we can’t bear
to say
words we keep swishing around
in our mouths like mouthwash
as if it were the cure
when we all know
prevention is better than any cure
there ever was
remember when I told you that?
remember when you wrote a song about it?
it’s a song you tossed into
a wishing well as deep as my fading
desire you tossed it so quick
as if the illusion of a clean slate
would change you and your fate
I suppose it did, in a sense
you can change your life
whenever the **** you want to
and you wanted to
and you did I was just a kid
disguised as an embryo
**** **** *******
on the *** of denial
you said “babe, I know you just
wanna be on fire"
and I said yes and doused myself
in gasoline and said
"light a match" and ran
but you could never catch me
because I became
a map
just so I could prove
that all was not lost after all
you were just a teeny tiny sigh
in the cathedral-like brothel of introspection.
Jul 2, 2013
Jul 2, 2013 at 8:58 PM UTC
Apple cider vinegar boosts your metabolism and reduces hunger
I didn’t realize I had an appetite anymore
The feeling of food makes you sick when you can only imagine it coming back up
Spilling word ***** onto nice freshly cleaned carpets
Teeth stained, hospital gowns
I Need some mouthwash
If nobody knows about the problem that means it doesn’t exist right?
If no one can see your face, hallowed then you don’t take up space right?
Wrong, “you’re too fat, you’re too fat” You scream into the mirror
Haunching over the toilet, trying, crying to stand back up but no words come out and your legs won’t move for help
My illness is hard not to hate somedays when your throat is sore from five times of binging and purging today
Six rounds each
Maybe more if you can stomach it
Your nose will smell it and you’ll gag up more
Your mind is the worst weapon you can use against yourself
Counting every calorie as a new way to punish yourself for existing
You’re so afraid of taking up space that you will resort to slicing your belly in half in order to achieve inner peace
Baby, it doesn’t work that way
Listen I know that somedays you look to see your pretty skinny friends
And you feel bad about your body and how one of your thighs could barely fit through the head of her skintight t-shirt
But I have been there, I have seen **** you couldn’t even imagine
Girls who want to become bulimic or anorexic, get ready for your teeth to wear down and chip from the acid from below your belly
Rumbling with the force of regret, the food you just ate but didn't want the weight
Get ready for the hole in your throat right next to your tongue down your esophagus
That burned its way coming up as it did down
Get ready to see your mom or your dad walk in to see you on your knees praying to the gods above as below anything over the throne,
Get ready for the disappointment, the extra eyes, get ready for the tears the fears
Why can’t you just eat? The rehab, The relapse
Get ready for hating your body, lack of control
The spiral
Get ready because ana and mia don’t give a **** if you were happy before
Because they just want to be skinny
Aug 20, 2020
Aug 20, 2020 at 10:43 PM UTC
I want to be the bed covers
You wake to
That your restless limbs
Have smothered
That your emanating body
The fabric
You have tossed-and-turned in
8 hours hence
Imprinted with your scent
And the mouthwash
You gargle
To swoosh-and-splash
Along your tongue
To be in you
Like a liquid ache
Sloshing
Waking
I want to be the fork
You pick your eggs with
My metallic spine
In your slight fingers
Your demure hands
Scarred sustenance
Yolk sun
I want to be the comb
Tangled in your frizzy hair
Your wavy hair of smoke
And shadowed lakes
As soft as lint
Cascading
I want to be the cig
You light on the corner
To warm the brick morning
I want to hang on your quivering lips
Like an autumn leaf from a branch
I want you to inhale me
And let your body loose
Feel me utterly
Then exhale...
Let me evaporate
Into the nothingness
I was before
You
Feb 24, 2015
Feb 24, 2015 at 10:39 PM UTC
I want to be a crab cake
because I like tall buildings
perpendicular to highways,
penthouse balconies
thirty meter diving platforms.
whenever in San Fran,
i pancake my hands together
so i don't do impromptu Physics
eyeballing skyscrapers.
I want to be a crab cake
because I like tornado sirens
at two in the morning,
someone fetal position mouthwash drunk
in the bed next to me.
whenever in Birmingham,
i listen to my headphones;
tinnitus a siren wail
long after the flight home.
I want to be a crab cake
because I like bridge collapses;
infrastructure devastation
west of Florida,
killing all granola exports.
whenever in Portland,
i waitlist college signs
and estimate the weight limit
of a commuter bridge.
I want to be a crab cake
because the sunsets here
give me panic attacks.
it used to not,
but enough honey has built up
so bees swarm the bonnet
whenever there's a
blood orange tint.
I want to be a crab cake
because I don't like
the seafood here
or Sushi Pier discussions
of future trajectories
while rain pours on our
trout marinated in
Tahoe Tessie **** water.
I want to be a crab cake
because the mountains
bug me out.
i want flat land
where there are
blood prints on highways,
broken families in Tornado Valley,
and remains of promising bridges.
i want to be a crab cake
because i want the world
to eat me up.
May 30, 2018
May 30, 2018 at 10:06 PM UTC
As I strolled Beaker Street
A neon sign flashed in front of me
That said "Only Serious Poets Need Apply"
(Blink) "Need Apply" (Blink) "Need Apply"
So it was I thought to myself
I can think of nobody else
As serious a poet as I
I looked to the right and the left
Feeling pretty confident about myself
And decided to take a gander inside
The room it was totally dark
In the corner was the tiniest of sparks
I did a stately poetic stroll in that direction
Feeling I might have made a mistake
This thought occurred a little to late
But of course this whole scene might just be window dressing
A voice said we don't need a poet at all
Just someone dumb and gullible
That's the moment in my pants I started messing
Turns out it was a mad scientist
With a masters degree in craziness
What were his dastardly plans I could only be guessing
I was grabbed by a couple of thugs
Who highly dislike deodorant and mouthwash
Tied up and flown off to the smallest of islands
Where they did unspeakable experiments on me
In the first, second, and third degree
All because to insanity they took a liking
When it was they were finally done
With what those nut jobs consider good fun
Don't know how many walls they had me climbing
Daily now I plan my escape
I only hope that I'm not to late
When the opportunity arrives I hope I don't blow it
I find it so hard to believe
That this all has happened to me
And Why?
Because of me being such a serious poet
Apr 14, 2013
Apr 14, 2013 at 8:28 PM UTC
//
Burning
out brighter than the rest.
Trying
hard but it ain't my best.
Dying
may hurt but I'll finally get some sleep.
Wishing
on a group full of stars.
Clearing
my mind, my soul, my heart, my palms.
Piercing
skin.
Destroying
all in my life that is beautiful.
If I write a beautiful essay I must burn it.
If I continue to do so I must chop off my hand.
If I have a beautiful friendship I must end it.
If I have a good looking haircut I must ruin it.
If I'm getting good grades I must ditch.
If my parents start to trust me I must sneak out.
If I start to sober up I must drink mouthwash.
If I start to love myself I better **** up more gloriously than all before me.
Nov 21, 2012
Nov 21, 2012 at 12:27 AM UTC
Bomb her mouth
morning never comes
for *** enhanced fluoride
May 3, 2012
May 3, 2012 at 6:21 PM UTC